


life is cruel, but so are you

by hiraethia



Series: it's stuart hatford's world (we just live in it) [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (slaps background character) this bad boy can fit so much angst and backstory, Angst, Canon has been taken out back and shot, Character Death, Everything Hurts, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence, complicated family relationships everywhere, growing up in a crime family, history of the hatfords, just give it a chance it's good, loving recklessly and loving hard, obscure mafia shenanigans, roulette wheel moral compass, someone tell stuart to stop repressing his emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraethia/pseuds/hiraethia
Summary: stuart was ten when his mother made him promise to remember these words: life is cruel, but so are you.stuart was thirteen when he realized for the first time: maybe that was true, after all.OR,the youngest of the hatfords learns how to punch, takes over a syndicate, grows up, has identity crises, and falls in love. definitely not in that order.
Relationships: Mary Hatford & Stuart Hatford, Stuart Hatford & Neil Josten, Stuart Hatford/Adrian Nguyen
Series: it's stuart hatford's world (we just live in it) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932391
Comments: 54
Kudos: 67





	1. no place for children

**Author's Note:**

> HIHI!!! 
> 
> so i have been raving about this fic on my tumblr but for valid reasons because I LOVE IT SO MUCH. stuart hatford is one of the characters from aftg that really stuck out to me, because he only shows up for like 10 minutes and definitely has a backstory. sooooo i am here to throw away canon (ok only the parts i hate) and give him the backstory he deserves. i am advancing my stuart appreciation agenda and if you're here for the ride? buckle the fuck up <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a family portrait. a new face.

There was no place for children in the Hatford Syndicate. 

Stuart was the slowest to learn the lesson.

* * *

Mary flattened her hands against her dress, face twisting in disdain as she traced her fingers across black silk. 

“Why do we have to do this?” Her voice, pitched high with youth but ironed out with that aloof tone she’d learned from their older brothers, rose above the harried commands of overpaid photographers. 

Robin patted her shoulder awkwardly, his free hand adjusting his tie. “It’ll be over soon,” was all he said, to Mary’s immense annoyance. 

“Father’s not even here,” she muttered. 

“He’s in a meeting,” Peter said coolly, with the air that always said he was the oldest and therefore Father’s favorite and above the rest of them. Stuart wrinkled his nose. 

“ _I_ should be in the meeting,” Mary said.

“You’re eleven,” Robin said. 

“ _You’re_ seventeen and still haven’t gotten farther than handling money,” she shot back.

“Children,” Peter snapped.

Robin ignored him to retort.

(Stuart really didn’t know why he was arguing with his eleven year-old sister, she was practically a _baby_ -

“Stuart’s the baby and he’s not half as pissy as you are!”

\- oh, _no_ , he’d show Robin pissy).

He scrambled off where he was sitting on the couch and made a grab for his brother’s tie, and only got as far as yanking him forward before Mother interrupted in the way she always did: with a warm hand brushing over Stuart’s face. 

“It’s only a photo,” she said sternly. “Mary, the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish this, and the sooner you can join your father’s meeting.”

That got her to shut up.

Stuart stuck out his lip in a pout as his mother kept brushing her fingers over his cheeks, but didn’t do anything to quell the rising bubble of warmth tickling at his ribs. 

Finally, the photographers were ready. Stuart was directed to his place on the left side of the couch, right in front of Peter, while Mary was sat right next to him. Robin stood behind her, straightening his tie with a frown sent Stuart’s way. 

“Smile,” the man by the camera said, and the lights flashed with a pop.

* * *

(Later, Stuart would realize - 

He was the only person who did).

* * *

Hopping off the couch, Mary diligently followed Peter out of the ornate living room, taking her hair out of the tight bun Mother had put it in. Stuart trailed after her. 

“Where are you going?” he asked. He was tempted to step on the hem of her dress, she was walking so fast.

Mary glanced at him. “I’m going to Father’s meeting with Peter,” she said. “Are you coming?”

“No, why would I?” Stuart didn’t notice the glint in her eyes as he rambled on. “It’s all boring stuff and I have better things to do.”

“What, like playing with your silly little toys? Reading your silly little stories?” 

“They’re not _silly_!” 

His sister straightened up. She had only an inch on him, but sometimes the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a shadow made her look much older.

“You’ll never get anywhere, acting like that,” she scoffed, as if they weren’t only a year apart. “All of us started early, and you’re too busy being a baby to catch up. You’re going to be useless, Stuart. Do you want to be like Robin?”

Stuart was quick to anger, but even quicker to cry. Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he clenched his fists, haphazardly shoving his sister’s dagger words aside like they hadn’t already nicked and pricked his skin. 

“Robin’s nicer than you,” he spat. “I _hate_ you!” 

“I hate you too!” Mary called after him as he darted away, making his way down the ambling halls until he found his room. Stuart didn’t slam the door because he didn’t want to get yelled at again, but he was _that close_.

Throwing himself upon his bed, Stuart shoved his face into his pillows. He bit his quivering lip as a tear escaped, tracing its way down his cheek and wetting the fabric. He stayed there for a while, stewing, and only moved when his door creaked open.

It was Mother.

She sat down beside him, reaching out and gently tugging him up so he could face her. Furiously scrubbing at his face, Stuart glared halfheartedly at her. 

“Baobei. What’s wrong?” 

“Mary’s stupid,” he grumbled.

“Don’t say that about your sister,” Mother said, though she didn’t seem too mad about it.

“She said I was useless,” Stuart said, frowning because it was easier than letting his lips quiver with hurt, “and that I’ll never catch up. She said I was just a baby.”

Like that was true at all. Sure, Stuart didn’t really understand exactly what about Father’s meetings was just so interesting to his siblings, but that didn’t mean he was worthless. Sure, he didn’t understand why his oldest brother never played with him outside of meals, and he didn’t understand why his father always spent all his time talking with other men in suits as if his own son hadn’t tried to goad him into more than two-word conversations many times before -

But that didn’t mean Stuart was _nothing_.

It couldn’t.

His mother sighed, before reaching out and carding her fingers through his hair. “Stuart, you will have to grow up sooner or later,” she said softly.

“I don’t want to.” He was a boy of spite. “I’m _never_ going to grow up. I can do all the things they do, and still not grow up.”

There was a smile that looked like sadness on her face. Stuart didn’t know how that was possible, but what he did know was that he didn’t like the way it looked.

So he did the only thing he knew how, and he’d gotten it from Mother herself: he brushed his fingers over her face, running his hand lightly over her cheeks. She closed her eyes, lips twitching in a slightly better smile.

“Baobei, I need you to remember this,” she said when Stuart finally dropped his hands. She cupped his face so he had nowhere else to look. There was something serious in her eyes. 

“Yes, Mama.”

“Your heart is very big. And sometimes, this isn’t the best place for it.” She spoke carefully, like she was thinking very hard about her next steps. “The world doesn’t care for big hearts, and you might get hurt from it.” 

Stuart wanted to say something in response, maybe argue, but she didn’t let him.

“If that happens, I want you to remember these words. Life is cruel, but so are you, Stuart.” She said it again. “Life is cruel, but so are you.” 

He didn’t know what kind of promise he was making when he repeated those words, but it felt an awful lot like a vow.

“Good,” Mother said with that sad smile again. She ruffled his hair, before kissing him lightly on the forehead. “As long as you remember that, you will be okay.”

“Okay, Mama,” Stuart murmured.

She pulled away, quirking an eyebrow. That serious look was gone, thank God, replaced by something far warmer and familiar. “Now, I’ll give you a secret. Your siblings are in meetings, so I’m only going to tell this to you, okay?”

Stuart scrambled to sit up further, any strangeness or anger lingering in his chest disappearing in a flood of excitement. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“Tomorrow, we will be getting a new family,” she said. “A father and his little boy. He’s your age, and I’m going to talk to your father to let you be the one to show him around.”

“Okay!” He wasn’t _elated_ , not at all. Psh. He was just excited to finally have someone his age around (Mary was only a year older than him but certainly didn’t act like it). “What’s his name?”

“I’ll let him tell you himself.” 

“Okay. Thanks, Mama.” 

She took his hand. “Will you come and keep me and Robin company, now?”

Stuart didn’t need her to tell him twice before he was slipping off his bed and darting away.

* * *

The boy’s name was Adrian.

Everything about him should have been warm. His tan skin, his earthy brown hair, his rosy cheeks, still rounded with baby fat.

But his eyes, dark and deep as honey, were ice cold.

He didn’t return Stuart’s smile, even when everyone else went around with their introductions. His father was some man named Philip, apparently a new translator they’d recruited. Adrian didn’t move even as Philip stepped forward to shake hands with Stuart’s father, only glaring at the nearby wall like it’d personally wronged him in some past life.

So, Stuart’s grin slowly fell. His gaze drifted to the side. 

Two knife wounds were slashed across Adrian’s left cheek, stretching from his temple all the way down to his chin. They weren’t fresh, but hadn’t bloomed into scars just yet.

Stuart took in the chilling rage of Adrian’s eyes one more time, the tense set of his jaw and small shoulders like he was already prepared for a fight.

It was then, that he began to realize - 

There was no place for children in the Hatford Syndicate.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: the only way stuart knows how to socialize with people is through throwing hands
> 
> other chapters will be longer! this is just a short lil intro. appetizer.


	2. breaking day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stuart tries to make a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall stuart has a special place in my heart obviously but i just love robin so much. it'd be a shame. if something were to happen. to him.

Adrian was quiet.

Stuart told himself that was okay, because he had more than enough words to fill the silence.

But he was quickly tiring of it about fifteen minutes in, once he’d finished showing Adrian to the spare bedroom he’d be staying in (it was _definitely_ cushy enough for a random spare room). He glanced at the wordless boy following him, albeit reluctantly, like a ghost, and frowned.

Something bubbled inside him, too fiery to be anything but frustration.

“Hey,” he said sharply. “Are you going to look at me or not?” 

Nothing.

“You’re just going to ignore me?”

Nothing.

“Most people ask about my eyes. They’re weird, right? One gray, one brown. Who has those? I do.” Stuart huffed when that got - _surprise, surprise_ \- nothing.

“So what does your father actually do? We don’t go out of our way to hire translators.” He smiled humorlessly. “My brothers usually can handle that.”

Still no answer.

Adrian was standing on Stuart’s right side, so whenever Stuart turned, all he could see were the marks on his cheek. When he looked closer and harder, he could tell that they weren’t deliberately made. They were too uneven for that. Yet, Stuart could tell they weren’t an accident. Marks like that didn’t come twice on a whim.

The new tenseness lining Adrian’s frame as they fell into quiet told Stuart he knew exactly what he was looking at. Stuart swallowed, forcing himself to look away.

“You should never get in fights you can’t win,” he finally said when the awkwardness stretched on for too long. 

He was fully ready for Adrian to ignore him again, so he sighed as haughtily as he could and turned around.

He did not expect Adrian to finally look at him.

There was something that looked a lot like anger swimming in his irises, but more than that -

He looked almost bitter. 

“And what fights have you ever gotten into, Hatford?” he spat.

Stuart blinked, rather stupidly. Adrian’s voice was no higher than his own, cracked a little around the edges and certainly angrier than any ten year-old had a right to be. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the childish vitriol curling contemptuously against Adrian’s lips.

So while his brain scrambled to put the pieces together, he was already blurting something else out.

“Stuart.”

Adrian didn’t look impressed. “What?”

“That’s my name. Stuart. Or Wang Haiyang if you really want to get technical, but I go by Stuart.” 

The boy looked away at that, mouth twitching like he would frown, except judging by the state of the wounds on his face, it’d hurt too much to.

(Some stupid, petty part of Stuart smarted that he wasn’t even worth _that_ much attention).

“What happened to you?”

It was a question he didn’t really mean to ask, but it slipped out anyway. In his head, he could almost hear his sister’s voice. _That’s rude, Stuart. Mother taught you better_. He didn’t think it’d look very proper if he smacked himself upside the head right then and there, so Stuart just bit his lip and turned. 

“I’ll show you the courtyards,” he said in lieu of an apology.

Adrian’s answer didn’t actually come until they stopped outside his bedroom again, ready to part for the evening.

Stuart was halfway down the hall when he heard the boy’s voice.

“My dad got in a fight he couldn’t win.” 

He turned, mouth open with absolutely nothing to say, but the sound of a door shutting cut him off. 

Adrian was already gone.

* * *

Peter was a decade older than Stuart, all grown up and too good to get in the dirt with his baby brother. Robin played it off like he didn’t have the time to dabble in Mary and Stuart’s kind of sparring - but Stuart knew his brother’s hands were too soft for those kinds of fights.

(Stuart didn’t even want to think about Adrian, who actively tried to avoid him like he was the plague, for reason).

((No, it didn’t hurt at all)).

So it came down to him and his sister, rolling with their punches and getting dust all over their sweaters and trousers. 

All Hatfords learned how to fight. Mary parroted Peter, calling it an “occupational hazard,” but Stuart didn’t really mind. It gave him an excuse to pummel and tackle ( _no_ , that wasn’t a fucking hug) his sister. 

He hadn’t really spoken to Mary since their last fight after the photoshoot. She didn’t go out of her way to find him either (read: completely ignored). Stuart wasn’t really worried, because they somehow always came back together in the end. 

His sister’s apologies almost always came in the form of an offer to spar in the courtyards. Stuart’s came in the form of hand-delivering an extra cup of tea to her room. 

(And also _not_ pulling her hair during said spars).

Mary’s apologies came in the form of tough love, the kind that shoved him into the dirt but picked him back up before he could complain. They didn’t extend to honorable combat, not like Stuart’s.

Robin patched him up in the end. Pressing a bandage over the cut on Stuart’s cheek, he pursed his lips. 

“You should’ve seen the other girl,” Stuart tried for a joke, but his brother just slowly raised an eyebrow. He sighed. “Mary fights dirty.”

“Oh?”

“I really did pin her down, but then she scratched me.” No, he wasn’t pouting. Robin shouldn’t have looked that amused.

“Not everyone fights as honorably as you do, Stuart,” he said, ruffling his hair and packing away the first-aid kit. 

“Why don’t you join us?”

“Obviously I don’t feel comfortable beating petulant children.” 

Stuart made a very undignified squawk. “You never fight.”

“That, I don’t.”

“What do you do then?” 

“What do _you_ think I do?” Robin had sat back on the bed, motioning for Stuart to do the same. He threw himself at his brother, wriggling up against his side and tucking his head against his chest. “Tell you what. If you were in charge, what job would you give me?” 

“I still don’t know all the jobs that Father has for us. No one tells me,” Stuart grumbled.

His brother’s chest rumbled with his chuckle, but soothing fingers flattened down Stuart’s rumpled hair. “Because you’re supposed to experience it yourself, dummy.”

“This is propaganda to get me to go to Father’s meetings,” he snapped.

“Well, Father has a lot of power and money. You’re not really old enough to do the dirty work, really,” Robin said, wrinkling his nose, “but he uses that power and money to take down bad people. Corrupt people, who do unjust things.”

“What does he do with them?” 

“Put it together, Stuart. What else can we do?” Robin trailed off for a moment, like he was losing himself in thought. He did that sometimes, Stuart realized. He’d stop talking and look into the distance like he was trying to put something together that just wasn’t there. “Let’s just say they won’t be able to do those things anymore. We’re hitting big targets now, and it’s dangerous work. I don’t even want to be involved in it, really.”

Stuart’s head jerked up at that. “But you can’t. You can’t leave,” he said.

That empty glint was still there when Robin turned to meet his gaze. He looked sad. He looked like their mother when he got like that.

“They deserve what they get, in the end,” was all he said. Stuart didn’t know who he was trying to convince with that. He was quiet for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists in his brother’s shirt, before clearing his throat.

“Are we doing bad things to be good, Robin?” 

Because, contrary to popular (Mary’s) belief, he wasn’t completely clueless. He didn’t fully understand everything that went on behind the walls just yet, but he knew what blood and hidden injuries looked like. He’d heard the words “clean-up” and “clean-hit” often enough to understand that, no, they weren’t meant for innocuous, innocent things.

He knew what it was they did, if only just a shallow, friendlier version of it.

Stuart preferred stories to get lost in and Mother’s gentle touch on his face and his siblings’ unhindered smiles. He preferred _friends_ to heartless allies, and he preferred light even when all his family did was dress and drink in darkness. He preferred going all in, _doing_ without _thinking_ , taking it one step at a time without plotting where he’d be ten steps, ten minutes, or ten years from now.

But just because he did things differently didn’t mean he was _dumb_. 

And if they were doing bad things to be good - 

Stuart didn’t really know if he liked it.

Robin just stared at him, before his lips turned in a tiny smile. 

“There may be hope for us after all, brother,” he said.

Not bothering to parse out what _that_ was supposed to mean, Stuart flopped over onto his back. “Bleh. Peter will take over the Syndicate first. I’ll just be his lonely little pawn.”

Robin just _loved_ to ruffle his hair, didn’t he. Stuart scrunched up his face as his brother said, “Pawns set the tone of the game. One move, and they can make all the difference.”

“You’re too metaphorical.”

“You know what a metaphor is, petulant child? Wait - better question, you know _chess_?”

“Fuck you!”

A fake, scandalized gasp. “Who taught you that?” Robin demanded, like he wasn’t the one who let out strings of curses befitting of a sailor whenever he stubbed his toe. 

“You know who. Shut up. _Stop_ touching my hair!” Stuart shrieked when his brother went to tackle him, grabbing him in a gentle headlock he could easily squirm his way out of.

He didn’t, though.

* * *

(Stuart rather liked Robin, the occasional moments they actually talked together. He hoped he’d stop getting that sad look in his eyes). 

((He hoped they wouldn’t ever part)).

* * *

Adrian sought Stuart out four days after he first moved in (not that Stuart was counting or anything).

To be fair, “seeking him out” was a very self-flattering way to put it.

It was more along the lines of: Adrian apathetically watching Mary pummel Stuart in another sparring session and calling him out for not knowing how to throw a proper punch.

“What?” Stuart demanded breathlessly. He didn’t know if it was from his recent fight or from the fact that Adrian was _finally_ talking to him. 

The boy’s face twisted in a displeased frown, like he was miffed that he had to keep talking to him. “You’ll break your thumb if you keep doing that.” 

Stuart tried not to smile. “So will you teach me?” When Adrian didn’t say anything, he gestured toward his sister, who was not-so-subtly glaring at them. “She’s not going to teach me. She knows I’ll beat her to next week if she does.”

“I can hear you,” Mary said. 

“I imagine you’re bored out of your mind.” Stuart ignored her - a skill he’d honed and perfected by now. “And I know my father’s been keeping yours busy. So come out here tomorrow and practice with me.” 

He didn’t wait around for Adrian’s answer, returning to Mary’s side. He adjusted his stance, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet, and threw the first punch.

(Now that he thought about it, it did hurt a little).

Two hours later, Stuart looked back to where Adrian had been sitting, panting as he tried to catch his breath. 

He was gone.

Mary slumped onto the ground beside him, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of her face. Stuart settled down next to her, close enough that if he just tilted his foot, their legs would brush. 

He always loved his sister, but he liked her a lot better, in these moments. Not the perfect, pristine Mary that always tagged along after Peter to join their father’s meetings. No, he liked this Mary - wild and challenging, skin smeared with dirt and new, blushing bruises. The Mary that fought dirty, no matter how much that peeved Stuart. The Mary that tackled him to the ground (not a hug) and smiled freely and still had some of that childish youth that Stuart sometimes was afraid she’d lost.

She noticed him watching her, and raised her eyebrows. 

“You like that boy?” she asked after a minute, jerking her chin toward the spot where Adrian had been sitting. Stuart shrugged, wholeheartedly ignoring the winded feeling in his chest.

“He doesn’t like me.”

“Understandable.” There was a mischievous smirk on her face as she nudged Stuart with her elbow. “I’m the only one who can tolerate your company.”

“Shut up.” 

She did. Leaning back on her hands, she tilted her head up toward the sky. The sun was gentler that day, hesitating behind overhanging clouds. Still, they felt its warmth, casting them in a strange light that afternoon.

“He’s not going to show up tomorrow,” she said, confident. 

Stuart looked away and sighed.

“I know.”

* * *

Adrian showed up.

He was standing by himself in the courtyards, dressed in a loose sweater and slacks. Bathed in the watery light of a sky that couldn’t decide if it wanted to cry or not, he had tilted his head up toward the clouds. 

Stuart broke the moment when he stepped outside, and Adrian turned around. Whatever openness had been in his expression immediately shut down when he spotted him. Gone, like a firefly blinking out.

“Hello,” Stuart said, unsure of what else to do. He hadn’t planned this far. He hadn’t been expecting Adrian to actually take him up on his offer.

(He supposed Peter or Father would’ve chastised him for that).

Adrian’s jaw twitched like he was holding back words. He took a step back as Stuart took a step forward, bringing his hands out from where they were clenched behind his back. Gaze drifting down to his fists, Stuart couldn’t help the smile twitching at his lips as he mimicked Adrian’s movements.

((The smile was never reciprocated on Adrian’s end. But it turned out that maybe Stuart had a penchant for things that didn’t come back to him.

So he kept smiling anyway)).

Stuart threw the first punch. Immediately, Adrian’s arm flew up, blocking the blow before it could land on his face. 

It was on.

They fought for what felt like hours. Dirt smeared on previously immaculate clothes. Mercy disappeared with every movement. Eventually, they only stopped when rain began to softly kiss their rapidly forming bruises the way proper parents would, sprawled out on the ground with their faces tilted up to the silvery skies.

If Stuart shut his eyes and imagined warmth instead of cold, he could almost picture his mother, gently stroking a soothing hand over his face.

Then he cracked one eye open, chest heaving as he caught exhilarated breaths, and tilted his head toward Adrian.

He looked so young just then, with his eyes delicately closed and his freckles washed out underneath the drizzle. That old, closed look let go of his features, leaving behind a boy Stuart’s age that knew how to use his fists and nails far better than his own words. 

Some part of Stuart wondered, foolishly, how long this was going to last.

Mother told him that he’d put cruelty before his heart. Mother told him he would have to grow up sooner or later. 

Stuart really, really didn’t want to let things go.

(But he had a penchant for things that didn’t come back to him).

Adrian blinked, pursuing his lips for a moment before sitting up. His hair was damp, sprinkled with a crown of dew. Stuart followed his motions, pushing himself to his feet.

“Come back tomorrow?” he asked quietly. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Adrian twitched. Stuart thought it looked like a nod, if he tilted his head at just the right angle.

They stepped back inside, careful to take off their shoes so they didn’t track mud all over the expensive floors. Robin, who was just coming down the hall, stopped and glared when he saw their state.

“Not again. Beating up the new kid now?” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Stuart opened his mouth to say something, maybe an insult, but his brother grabbed him before he could do anything, and dragged him down the hall.

“I didn’t beat him up,” Stuart muttered as Robin tossed a dry shirt at him. He could hear the pitter patter of the rain against the exoskeleton of their home, growing louder and louder. 

“Oh?” his brother said distractedly, clearly thinking about something else.

Glancing down at his hands, Stuart made a fist. It was in proper form this time, despite the ache that buzzed across his knuckles. 

Ignoring the sudden, strange ache flowering in his chest, he murmured, “He beat me.”

* * *

Petrichor still stained the courtyard the next day, draping fine cobblestone and dirt paths with clingy mist. Stuart was used to the aftermath of storms. London loved to weep. It didn’t stop him from going back outside, filling his lungs with a deep, fresh breath.

  
  


It was a quiet morning. Father was gone for something that involved work, Peter had taken over the meetings for the day, Robin was with Mother, and it was early enough that Mary was still asleep. Sticking out his arms, Stuart pretended he could control the fog. He spun about once or twice, relishing the way the air parted smoothly between his fingers.

If his sister were there, she probably would’ve laughed at him. Called him childish, for playing around like that. 

But it was the kind of day, after the storm, where the world seemed to sit still and exhale all at once. Stuart couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Lucky him - it wasn’t Mary who found him, dancing among the mist.

Stuart stopped turning to see Adrian standing in the courtyard, leaning against the wall. He had one eyebrow raised slightly, like he was judging him. Lowering his arms, Stuart met his gaze, silently daring him to say anything.

He only pushed himself up, striding over to meet Stuart in the middle.

Already, they fell into a routine. Adrian threw the first punch this time, and Stuart didn’t block it as nimbly as he had the day before. He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face when instead of punching back, he threw himself at Adrian with all his might and sent them both sprawling onto the ground. The other boy grunted with the force of it.

Tackle. A strategic maneuver proven effective 80% of the time.

(Not a hug).

By the time they called off their sparring match, some of the mist had cleared out. A waning sun peeked out through the thick spread of clouds, shining gently down in select patches. 

Adrian shoved Stuart off of him, raking a hand through his wild mess of hair as he sat up. A laugh threatened to bubble up Stuart’s chest at the sight, but he caught it and nipped it off quickly. 

For a moment, all was quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Stuart waited until Adrian had settled, shoulders slumping just slightly as he looked off into the distance, before saying anything else.

“You’re good at fighting.”

The boy didn’t glance at him as he replied with a curt, “Thanks.”

  
  


“Who taught you?”

“My dad,” Adrian said, after a long minute.

Stuart pushed himself up on his elbows. He didn’t ask why, even though he wanted to. There were many questions, really, swirling around in his treacherous brain. Why his father was the one who taught him fighting, but also got into fights he couldn’t win in the first place. Why Adrian refused to talk with him more than strictly necessary. Why he even came to the Hatfords in the first place.

He didn’t ask any of those questions, only squinting up at the clouds and saying, “Would you want - to join us?” 

That got him some eye contact at least.

“What?” Adrian said.

“You know, you’re basically part of our family already. You might as well join the Syndicate too.”

Disbelief flashed in the boy’s eyes for a second. “It’s not that simple.”

“I’m fourth in line of succession. I can make the rules,” Stuart said.

“You’re fourth in line. You won’t be getting anything,” Adrian said bluntly.

“ _Rude_.”

Stuart wasn’t the type to tread lightly, by any means, but he didn’t know what to do in that moment. This was the most they’d ever spoken to one another, and while some part of Stuart was willing to just call it off, the other - 

The other _wanted_ to hear Adrian. 

It was the kind of conversation that teetered at the edge of a cliff, and one wrong word would send them both tumbling into cold silence once again.

(And Stuart never did well with the cold).

He cleared his throat, nudging his heel against the dirt. “Listen,” he tried out the words, tasting their weight against his tongue. Adrian didn’t move. “I don’t know why you hate me, or what I did, but it’s nice...doing this with you. I’d like it if we could keep doing this.”

It was exactly what his parents had taught him. Make your point clearly, make no room for other interpretations.

One minute passed, then three, then five. Adrian was so still he could’ve been a statue when he finally answered.

“I don’t hate you,” he said hoarsely.

Stuart couldn’t help his noise of surprise. “Oh?”

“It’s my - it’s my dad.” Adrian’s voice was too small and too young to be edged with such a deadly steel. He spat out the words like they were physically hard to get out. “He’s the only person I have left. I’m - I’m scared for him.”

“He’ll be okay,” Stuart said, not quite understanding. “We’re all good at our jobs, and your dad wouldn’t have been hired if he wasn’t either.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, really. When Adrian turned to stare at him, for once, the coldness had left his eyes. Instead, his irises gleamed like shattered pieces of amber, stuck together only by tributaries of gold.

“If something happens to him, I - ” He didn’t finish the sentence, like he was scared if he did, the words would come true. Glaring down at his clenched fists, he was quiet for so long that Stuart began wondering if he should’ve just changed the subject - 

But Adrian kept surprising him.

“If something happens to him, why else do you think he brought me to your family?” Adrian asked lowly.

As much as he wished he didn’t, Stuart could see the implications right there. The writing was on the wall, and while Stuart was the kind of boy who would look away regardless, he still knew how to read between the lines.

_If something happens to him, your family will be the one saddled with me_.

“You’re not a burden,” Stuart said naturally, turning his back on the wall and its stupid writing. He’d read it, and now he threw it away. “I’ll take care of you.”

Adrian stared at him like someone who had always expected every single truth to _hurt_.

“You can’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do. You’ve beat me up twice in a row now, and I never let anyone do that, except for my sister.” Stuart glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “That means you’re already good with me. That’s all that matters, really. Unless, of course, you want to try fighting my sister.”

“Oh.” Adrian still looked rattled when he ducked his head, avoiding Stuart’s gaze. At least it was better than that chilly blankness he’d been wearing since he’d gotten there. “No, thanks.”

“You don’t like Mary? I won’t tell her, you can tell me the truth.”

His shoulders came up in a shrug. 

One minute passed, then three, then five.

“You’re the only one I can kind of tolerate.”

Stuart grinned fiercely. “That makes two of you.” 

And, _oh_ , apparently there _was_ a secret way to make Adrian smile: self-deprecation. It didn’t matter at all, because Stuart’s breath caught as he watched the daybreak on the boy’s face. It glowed quietly, tentatively, but it was every inch there.

Sure, Stuart did have a penchant for things that never returned to him.

But right then and there, with that sunrise of a smile on Adrian’s face, the kind of dawn that edged closer to the stars so slowly, slowly, until brilliance was all he could ever see, Stuart thought -

Maybe some things did come back to him, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: adrian talks a bit more, stuart and mary commit espionage, robin and peter accidentally namedrop another crime family
> 
> basically shit goes down starting next chapter! that's what you get for being in the hatford syndicate i guess


	3. robin falls from the nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hatfords attempt to play the long game, but robin has always been better at chess.

Stuart didn’t know when the line between sparring partners and _friends_ had disappeared, but it had. 

It was a rather long process. Adrian didn’t trust or open up easily, and Stuart wasn’t tender or patient by nature. They pushed and pulled at each other, some days ending in conversation, others ending in sullen silence. Whenever Adrian wasn’t by himself or with his father, he was with Stuart; whenever Stuart wasn’t with Mary or Robin, he was with Adrian.

They gravitated toward each other like the moon and the sea. Stuart wondered if and when they’d ever touch - without bruised knuckles or clenched fists.

He wondered if Adrian thought the same thing.

* * *

“Did you have other friends? You know, before you came here.”

“Focus on fighting, Stuart.”

“I was just wondering. Am I your first friend? _Ow_ , _fuck_ \- ”

“We’re not friends.”

* * *

“You know, sometimes Robin steals Father’s wine and lets me dip a chopstick in it to try it out. I’m just saying - ”

“I’m not drinking with you.” 

* * *

“Have you ever gone with your father on a mission before?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, fine.”

* * *

“Hm. How about Rian?”

“That’s horrible.”

“Adi? _Rain_?”

“Stop.”

“Oh! Ade.”

“...No.”

“I like Ade. I’m calling you Ade.” 

Adrian just sighed.

* * *

Stuart didn’t truly ask about Adrian’s scars until a year later.

They were sitting on the floor of Stuart’s bedroom. Adrian was leaning against the foot of the bed, playing with something on his phone. Robin liked to gripe that they didn’t _need_ phones - _you are only eleven, for God’s sake_ \- but Father had given it to them anyways because they needed to stay in communication, or whatever.

It didn’t really matter, in the end. Stuart barely used his phone at all. He wasn’t totally _helpless_.

Glancing at Adrian, who looked more relaxed than he ever would have been a year ago in Stuart’s presence, he felt the question bubbling in his throat - as naturally as the sun rising through the clouds.

He didn’t know how to put it delicately, but enough time with Adrian had taught Stuart -

The boy wasn’t afraid of harshness.

He cleared his throat to get Adrian’s attention. Brown eyes, almost amber in the lighting of his bedroom, met his.

“You said your father got in a fight he couldn’t win, the first time I asked you about - your scars,” he said. “What did you mean by that?”

For the longest time, Adrian didn’t answer. But the question never disappeared. Its weight disrupted the air between them, warping gravity until the only things left in orbit were Stuart and Adrian. 

He was okay with waiting. He had nothing else to do, the curiosity had been simmering slowly ever since he’d first met Adrian, and for once, he wasn’t afraid of the other boy’s raised hackles or claws.

(Not that he ever had been).

A soft thumping noise tugged Stuart from his thoughts. Adrian had tossed his phone onto the floor, sighing and sinking back against the bed. He tugged one knee up to his chest and didn’t look at Stuart. His eyes were glazed, like he was lost in memories.

“My dad used to work for the government,” he finally said, jaw twitching like he was working through the words in his mouth, testing their taste and burden, before letting them go. “There weren’t many good people there, where he worked. He left because he wanted to do something about it, and one of them came after him for trying to spill secrets.

“He wasn’t there when they came into our home, but I was.” One hand drifted up to brush against the scars on his cheek, the markings so old yet so new at the same time. “I managed to fight him off before he could do much damage.”

Quiet trickled between them like blood. Stuart could only stare as Adrian lowered his hand, whatever pain blossoming from between the fractures in his heart flattening into nothing as the minutes crawled on.

“What about your mother?” Stuart found himself asking. “She didn’t protect you?”

Adrian shrugged, too nonchalantly. “She’s dead. I never knew her.”

It was too casual, but genuine at the same time. Stuart figured he would’ve felt the same way, if he’d grown up without his mother.

But he couldn’t imagine a life without her.

Hatfords didn’t apologize. It was something his father had taught him early on, back when he actually spent time with Stuart. Yet, he felt the words welling up anyway, and he swallowed them back just as quickly.

Instead, he lifted a hand, catching Adrian’s gaze.

“Can I - ” Another pause. “Can I touch them?”

Adrian stared at him like he didn’t know who he was looking at. Something unreadable flashed through his eyes.

Stuart didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t for him to eventually say hoarsely, after a minute, “Okay.”

They gravitated toward each other, a solar system of their own. Stuart was slow when he reached out. His touch was feather-light, barely there, but Adrian still tensed all the same. He paused, giving him time to adjust. Eventually, the stiffness melted from his shoulders.

Stuart started at his temple, hovering his fingertips over the raised, bumpy skin. Then he traced a pathway down, following winding rivers to the bottom of Adrian’s chin. Distantly, he remembered the things Robin would tell him, about how people sometimes repaired shattered things with gold joining the cracks. Robin would go on and on about how beautiful it was.

This was - something else.

This was survival, this strength, and this was Adrian. He could’ve been anything in that moment - a friend, a storm, a stranger - and Stuart wouldn’t have cared.

The words threatened to come up again, but Stuart didn’t say them. He only hoped Adrian could somehow feel them, in the way Stuart never pressed harshly. In the way that, despite having punched that same place multiple times (Stuart wasn’t above trying to deck both sides of Adrian’s face after all), he never did anything more than look carefully.

_I’m sorry it happened to you_.

The moment ended when Stuart moved his hand away, and Adrian opened his eyes again. Their gazes snagged together for the longest time, tangled up, before something flickered in Adrian’s expression again.

“Your eyes,” he said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Why are they like that?”

Stuart blinked. He was tempted to smile. “I don’t know. No one else in my family has eyes like mine. I guess I was just born like that.”

He was fine with leaving it at that, but Adrian just kept surprising him. Stuart’s breath caught in his throat when Adrian raised his hand, moving just as slowly as he had when he placed his fingers right at the edge of Stuart’s eyelid. He was looking at his gray eye.

Oh, he thought as Adrian observed carefully, hands ghosting over a fading bruise he’d left there only a week prior. 

They sat on the floor of his bedroom, indulging in a fleeting moment of innocence before they had to go back out to the rest of the house. 

He really liked it.

* * *

“Stuart.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think your eyes are weird.”

“Oh, thanks, Ade. You’re such a nice friend.”

Silence.

“We _are_ friends, right?” 

“Yeah.” A sigh. “We’re friends.”

* * *

Stuart was a little sick of being home-schooled.

It wasn’t that he particularly _wanted_ to hang out in dusty schoolyards with other wannabe bullies and insecure brats. But his only other hobbies were sparring with either Adrian or Mary (his sister never let Stuart invite Adrian for their sessions, for whatever reason), sneaking around the halls eavesdropping, or reading.

It got a little mind-numbing after twelve years of it.

He was sitting by Mother at the dining table, watching the sunset outside. Adrian wasn’t there that day, having gone out with his father, and Mary was begrudgingly finishing a last-minute session with her tutor.

“Why couldn’t we go to a regular school?” he asked without preamble. His mother paused for a moment, before slowly lowering her book. 

“Are you unsatisfied with your teachers?” 

“No,” Stuart muttered, kicking his foot under the table, albeit a little petulantly. 

“Baobei, you know why we can’t give that to you,” she said sternly. 

Knowing was different from accepting, though. Objectively, Stuart knew he couldn’t go to a regular school not because they couldn’t afford it, but because he had bigger and better things to do. Like following his father’s footsteps, like sparring with Adrian in the courtyards, like training to take over a syndicate even though he was the fourth in line for succession. 

He didn’t voice any of those reasons, only scowling and replying, “I’m tired of being so - so alone, all the time.” It wasn’t exactly the right word, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Mother just gazed at him with that sad look in her eyes, the same look Robin was wearing more and more often now. Reaching out slowly, she stroked one hand down the side of Stuart’s face, cupping his cheek.

“Your father will have more work for you soon enough,” was all she said. “Be patient.”

He didn’t find out what the _work_ was until another year later.

* * *

“ - can’t involve Stuart or Mary. It’s dangerous - ” 

“ - can’t shelter them forever, Robin. Mary’s already - ”

“ - just trying to follow you, Peter. Do you even pay attention- ”

“Sons.” 

“Father, you can’t do this to them. Especially not Stuart - ”

* * *

Adrian’s father was a nice man. Stuart met him a few times over the years, whenever he wasn’t busy handling missions or doing whatever it was he did with their syndicate. If he looked closely enough, he could see the resemblance. Adrian was tanner than his father was, and he had his scars, of course, but -

They had the same eyes. And the same stance, loose enough to be casual but still guarded enough to jump into a fight any moment. 

Adrian smiled like he did, too. He smiled a lot more when his father was around, Stuart noticed.

“He likes you, for some reason,” was what he told Stuart one afternoon. They were sitting in the dirt again, bruises patching up their knees and knuckles as they gazed up at the clouds. 

“For some reason?” Stuart teased, and Adrian rolled his eyes. 

“You’re okay.”

“High praise, coming from you.” 

“His words, not mine.” 

That earned Adrian an elbow to his ribs. He slapped Stuart on the shoulder in retaliation. Stuart couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, and his friend’s lips twitched in a smile of his own. That only made Stuart laugh harder.

When his chuckles died away, one of the clouds covering the sun slipped aside. A beam of light fell perfectly on Adrian’s face, spilling liquid gold over his cheeks. 

Illuminated in honey, all shades of amber, he looked almost unbearably peaceful.

Stuart found the words slipping out before he could stop them.

“I’m glad he makes you happy,” he said quietly.

Adrian glanced toward him, before his eyes darted away.

“I wish yours did too,” he muttered after a minute.

Suddenly the sun felt a lot less warm.

It wasn’t something he thought about often. Stuart was more than fine with who he had. Mary, who was unafraid to rise to his challenges, who never went easy on him. Robin, who was kind and caring and always left a spot beside him empty in case Stuart wanted to fill up the space. Mother, who called him _baobei_ even though he was thirteen years-old, who still smiled at him whenever she was home from missions.

Adrian, who stuck by Stuart even though he didn’t have to, who never broke his orbit or his honest streak or his spirit.

Stuart was more than fine with them. He was _happy_.

Father’s love wasn’t really the kind that had to be earned. Rather, Stuart just -

He didn’t know if it was even there.

And he couldn’t miss someone or something he’d never had. Right?

Stuart eventually forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I’m okay where I am.” 

Adrian’s expression said he could see right through him.

* * *

“ - are you planning? This won’t end well. I’m serious - ”

“ - buying and selling _people_. The empire must fall - ”

“ - Moriyamas don’t show mercy - ”

“ - exactly why it’s dangerous - ”

“ - must take little steps. Extract information first - ”

* * *

“Who are the Moriyamas?”

Robin jolted at his question, almost dropping his phone. “What?” 

Stuart shrugged. Hushed voices were a normal thing in their home, secretive whispers tucked behind thick doors and emotionless faces. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t _listen in_ sometimes. 

He’d been finishing up another tutoring session when he passed by Father’s room - or office, rather. Stuart hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he was there just in time to hear Robin’s loud protest, which was in and of itself concerning because Robin _never_ raised his voice. 

(It was so much better than thinking about geometry, anyway. _Who needed geometry?_ )

Slowing down and pressing himself against the wall, Stuart leaned forward just enough that he could barely make out what they were saying.

“ - already bad enough that you want Peter to get involved,” Robin was saying. “You _know_ exactly how dangerous they are. They have connections everywhere.”

Peter’s voice, calm and collected as ever. “I appreciate the concern, Robin, but we all know the risks. And the fact that they have connections everywhere is exactly why we have to take them down.”

“ _Shut up,_ Peter - ”

“ _Robin_.” It was Father. Stuart leaned even closer, holding his breath. 

“I understand, Father. I do,” Robin said, almost pleading. “But you’re getting the kid’s father involved too. Are you willing to accept the liability for him too?”

“You let your heart rule your head. That has always been your problem,” Father said, ignoring Robin’s question. “That family is better off gone.”

“Sure, but - ”

“If you leave a wound untended, the infection will spread. We will cut it off before it starts. We just have to be careful.”

“What are you doing?”

Stuart wasn’t going to admit that he jumped about several inches into the air at the sound of Adrian’s voice, but he - he _had_ a reaction. Amusement flickered faintly across his friend’s face as he stepped back from where he’d been leaning over Stuart’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” he said quickly when he realized Adrian was waiting for an answer.

“Liar.” But he didn’t push it, only raising an eyebrow before turning and heading back toward his bedroom. Stuart let out a breath, ready to follow his friend, only to pause.

_You’re getting the kid’s father involved too_ , Robin had said. The only other kid around was - 

Adrian.

Something cold trickled down Stuart’s spine as he forced himself to move. He didn’t know what his brother had meant, or who they were even arguing about, but whatever it was sounded _bad_ . And if Adrian’s father really was involved, and if _Robin_ was concerned about that, then maybe he really had to worry about it -

“Stuart?” Robin’s voice drew him out of his muddled memories. He sounded tense. “Where did you hear that name?”

“I heard you talking about them,” he said quietly, picking at his nails. “Are they another target?”

Mary, who was next to him, slowly set down her book. She glanced at Stuart out of the corner of her eye, before looking back down at her work. She was listening.

Robin noticed, too, from the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat.

“You don’t need to know,” was all he said.

Stuart mercifully didn’t mention that he’d overheard his and Mary’s names multiple times in Robin’s conversations too. He didn’t mention Adrian’s father either. “Why not?”

“I’m serious.” 

“But - ”

“ _Stuart_.” There was a hard edge to Robin’s voice that Stuart hadn’t heard before. Instinctively, he shut his mouth against it. “Let us handle it. You stay put.” 

His brother didn’t wait around for further argument. With a clipped-off sigh, he stood up, only pausing to briefly card his fingers through Stuart’s hair before heading off.

Mary cast a glance over her shoulder, watching until Robin had completely disappeared around the corner, before raising her eyebrow at Stuart.

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” Stuart said, an unspoken _duh_ punctuating his words. “Obviously Robin doesn’t want to tell.”

His sister had that glint in her eye. That _planning something with potentially disastrous consequences_ glint. That _you better be reading my mind because I’m too far ahead to tell you everything_ glint. That _I know you hate this look because it makes you feel dumb_ glint.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “ _What_ , Mary?”

“Perhaps,” she said, “we can practice some espionage.”

“Well, what’s the plan? I can’t read your bloody mind.”

Clasping her fingers around Stuart’s wrist, she tugged him to his feet. “I know Peter’s been meeting with some of Father’s people about this. He’s kept me out of the loop too. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“So?”

“Tonight, we plan.”

Stuart willingly followed her, but hesitated when they passed the door of Adrian’s room.

“Should we - ?” His sister shot him a glare over her shoulder without stopping, the look softening only marginally when she saw whatever was on Stuart’s face. He scrambled to add, “I mean - it sounds like Adrian’s father is going to be involved too. From what I heard. Maybe he should know too.”

“Leave the boy alone.” There was a note of disdain in Mary’s voice that had Stuart narrowing his eyes. “If his father loves him so much, he’d tell him.”

_Our own father didn’t tell us_ , Stuart wanted to say. 

He didn’t say it.

* * *

“ - will take maybe years to do this.”

“ - just have to hope no one forgets their place along the way - ”

* * *

It turned out espionage wasn’t as easy as Mary made it sound.

A week turned into two, then three. Neither of them found out much, except for three important facts.

1\. The Moriyamas were a very dangerous family. Perhaps as dangerous as the Hatfords.

2\. Father, Peter, Robin, and select other trusted individuals Stuart didn’t recognize were hatching some kind of plan to take them down. It was a plan that, assuming all went well, would take years to execute without any suspicion.

3\. Robin really, really hated the plan.

The third fact wasn’t as important to Mary as it was to Stuart, but there was nothing they could do except wait for _something_ to happen.

It turned out - 

They didn’t have to wait for long.

* * *

There was no one else to bear witness. It was a mess of the Hatfords’ own making. Stuart supposed it was fitting that only they got to take the brunt of the storm.

Adrian wasn’t there that night. He was with his father, set to come back in a few days, and in hindsight, Stuart was glad his friend wasn’t there to see the first piece of the Hatfords fall.

Tension carved a canyon through the room. No one said anything, the only sounds puncturing the air coming from the clinking of chopsticks against porcelain. Stuart wasn’t hungry, pushing his rice around and frowning into his bowl.

Peter had come back earlier that day from one of his assignments. Judging from the new bruises decorating his face and the subtle limp even he couldn’t hide, it hadn’t gone too well. Robin was stiff throughout the whole dinner, looking at anything and anyone except for Father, sitting at the opposite end of the table.

Mary kept casting glances toward Peter, before ducking her head and stabbing viciously at her vegetables. Stuart eventually gave up on trying to eat at all, instead sitting back and wringing his hands, ignoring the look Mother shot him.

Finally, after nearly half an hour, after one too many hidden winces from Peter, Robin finally broke the silence.

He cleared his throat. The sound was too loud, and Stuart flinched. 

“I have something to say.”

Father’s face was unreadable as he stared at Robin, eyes narrowed like he was trying to pick him apart. Eventually, he flicked his wrist. _Go on_.

Robin took a deep breath. He sat with his shoulders rigid and back straight. Proper posture had been drilled into all of them since they were children, but Stuart knew there was more to it. 

His brother looked _angry_.

“I can’t be a part of this, Father,” Robin said. He was steady, like he’d been rehearsing this for quite some time, but his voice still wavered at the very end. “You and I both know we were only lucky that nothing worse happened today.” 

Peter sat forward. “Robin.” he hissed quietly.

“I understand you want to expand our reach by getting rid of our bigger threats, but this won’t end well for any of us.”

Stuart glanced desperately at Mary for something, _anything_ , that would explain to him what the fuck was happening. But his sister only looked on, her wide eyes the only indication that she was at all shocked. Even Peter looked stricken - the first actual emotion Stuart could remember even seeing on his brother’s face.

Father, meanwhile, only glared harshly at Robin. There was an iciness in his eyes that sent a shiver down Stuart’s spine.

“You can’t,” he asked slowly, “or you won’t?”

“I’ve tried to do what you’ve asked me to,” Robin pushed on, ignoring his question. “And I’ve also tried to tell you that what we’re doing - it’s not right. You can say that we’re protecting the people all you want, but in the end, we’re not. We’re just killing bad people without cleaning up the messes they leave behind, only their bodies, and what’s the point of anything, then? You’re putting your own children in the crossfire for nothing.”

He then stood up abruptly. The chair shrieked as it got pushed across the marble floor. Mother looked away, her face twisting, but Father didn’t move an inch.

Stuart couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not going to sit around and watch as you feed us to the wolves, one by one, because eventually, one of us will slip up. One of us will make a mistake. One of us won’t make it out in time - and we’ll all pay the price for it,” Robin said darkly. “I don’t know if I’ve convinced anyone else but myself on this, but I’ve tried. So, to answer your question, Father: I _won’t_ be a part of this business anymore.”

Finally, Father stood up too. Clenching his fists at his side, he stared his own son down, and the words slipping out from between gritted teeth twisted like knives in Stuart’s heart.

“Then you have no business being in this family, Wang Hongan.” 

The silence that descended upon them was fatal. Robin could only stare at Father for a long moment, a horrible mix of anguish and fury in his eyes, before nodding stiffly. It almost looked like a bow.

“Very well.” 

No one said anything as he stepped away from the table. No one said anything when he disappeared down the hall. No one said anything.

Stuart finally jolted out of his stupor, the food in his stomach a heavy and nauseating weight as he shoved himself away from the rest of his family. He thought he heard Mary call after him, but he didn’t stop. He ran in the direction Robin had gone, bursting into his brother’s room without knocking.

And he froze.

Robin had slung a bag over his shoulder, and was grasping a suitcase in his other hand. The rest of his room looked almost barren, shelves void of books and bed stripped empty. Stuart turned a wild gaze back to his brother, who was watching him so sadly.

“You knew this would happen,” Stuart said numbly as Robin approached him, sighing. 

“There was no way I could ever stay here,” he said slowly, “as soon as I turned my back on the Syndicate.”

“You - ” Shaking his head, uncaring of how desperate or pathetic he looked, Stuart stammered, “You can’t leave. I won’t let you.”

Robin’s face fell. “Stuart.”

“You can’t let him just throw you away. He’s - you can’t - ”

Then arms were coming around him, pulling him close. Stuart’s own hands flew up to grip at the back of Robin’s sweater, crushing fabric between his fists. Resting his chin on top of Stuart’s head, Robin squeezed him tightly.

“I’m sorry, Stuart. I really am.” His voice was breaking. Stuart felt tears burning in his eyes. 

“Stop,” he pleaded.

Robin did stop. He pulled back and crouched down so they were eye-level. There were tears in Robin’s eyes too, as he reached up and gently ruffled Stuart’s hair.

“I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “I can manage on my own. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What- of course I fucking will, Robin!” Stuart burst out. His brother didn’t even chastise him for the swear.

“I know.” Robin wiped away a stray tear that had slipped down Stuart’s face. “You - I won’t ask you to leave with me. But you always have a place next to me. Always, okay?”

Scrubbing furiously at his eyes, Stuart backed away. “Don’t - don’t make promises you won’t keep.” 

_Can’t, or won’t_ , his father had asked. Stuart was beginning to understand the difference.

At least it hurt Robin. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions, so the pain glinted darkly on his face. _Good_ , a trembling, bitter part of Stuart wanted to hiss. If he was going to hurt Stuart like this, then Stuart would hurt him right back.

Of course, Robin was a better man. He always was. Instead, his brother just straightened up, reaching out and gently patting his cheek. It just ached even more. 

“I’ll see you again, Stuart,” he said, throwing out vows like a traitor and like a _brother_ , before stepping around him. 

Stuart wasn’t there to watch him leave. He just wandered down the halls for a good hour or two, like a dazed ghost, while life moved on around him. Peter had locked himself away in his room, and he didn’t know where his father or mother had gone. For once, he didn’t want to know. 

Stuart whipped out his phone, blearily pulling up Adrian’s contact. He didn’t care that Adrian probably wouldn’t see his message until the morning - he just needed to talk to someone, _anyone_ that wasn’t in his immediate, fucked-up family.

Through tears and with trembling fingers, he typed out a message and sent it before thinking too hard on it.

_[Outgoing Message, 10:27 PM] Stuart Hatford to Adrian Nguyen:_ _3rd in line for succession now_

He didn’t notice footsteps behind him until it was too late.

“I guess Robin finally grew a spine,” Mary muttered after a long minute. 

It was the wrong thing to say.

Anger exploded, white-hot, and he whirled on his sister.

“Sod off, Mary. You never even liked him! You know what, you’re probably _glad_ he’s gone!” he yelled, ignoring the way his sister gaped at him, ignoring the fact that raising his voice did absolutely nothing to soothe the ringing hollow in his chest. “All you care about is whatever Peter or Father care about. All you care about is getting in on the fucking action.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Mary snarled, stepping forward. Stuart didn’t back down. Grief sharpened his teeth into fangs.

“It was always, ‘Oh, Robin is useless.’ ‘Oh, Robin has no future.’ Guess what, Mary? You don’t get to say that he grew a spine only now, because he’s _always_ had one. You just didn’t realize it because you think that anyone who _loves_ at all is just weak!”

Hands were on his shoulders, and before Stuart could push back, he was being shoved against the wall. Mary’s face was red with anger, but her eyes shone like glass. 

“You don’t get to talk to me about weakness,” she said shakily, scornfully. Violence, on the edge of breaking apart. “I do what I do because otherwise, I’m just a shadow in this house. Obsolete. I’m _oh so_ _sorry_ you never had to fight as hard as I did to be heard, even though you don’t care half as much as I do.”

Stuart swatted her hands away, breathing heavily. “That’s still not an excuse, Mary,” he said. “You never treated him like a brother.”

“And I’ve never been treated like a daughter.” She straightened up, turning her head aside and blinking harshly. 

For a moment, the tidal wave of grief receded, giving way just an inch. Stuart’s breath caught. The ghostly weight of Mary’s hands was still on his shoulders when his sister spun around and stormed down the hall.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring into nothing. Eventually, the noise in his ears began to die down, the storm slipping away into its aftermath. Only one phrase kept repeating, on and on.

_Life is cruel, but so are you_.

Stuart was ten when his mother had first given him the mantra.

Stuart was thirteen when he realized, with his own words echoing harshly through his head, that maybe it was true after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: stuart deals with a missing sibling and gets a tattoo
> 
> oh robin, you traitor 
> 
> (this isn't the last you'll see of him, worry not!)


	4. four to three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stuart apologizes, goes on a brotherly bonding adventure, and gets his family crest.
> 
>  **warnings** : mentions of death and murder (not graphic)

_[Incoming Message, 11:09 PM] Adrian Nguyen to Stuart Hatford: what happened?_

_[Incoming Message, 11:20 PM] Adrian Nguyen to Stuart Hatford: talk to me, s_

_[Incoming Message, 11:24 PM] Adrian Nguyen to Stuart Hatford: i’ll be back tomorrow morning_

* * *

“You didn’t have to come back early,” was all Stuart said when his door burst open in the early trappings of dawn to reveal a miffed Adrian.

“If you didn’t sleep all night you could’ve answered my messages,” Adrian said, shutting the door behind him and crossing his arms. 

Sitting up, Stuart snapped, “I did sleep.”

(He didn’t sleep).

“I locked the door, by the way,” he decided to add. 

“I picked the lock.” Adrian held up a pin before stuffing it back into his pocket, making his way over to Stuart’s bed and sitting down at the edge. “Talk.”

Upon closer look, Adrian wasn’t really miffed at all. He just looked - _concerned_. Stuart could read him just as well as he could read and memorize a story, and he could see the worry, living in the tiny crinkle by Adrian’s brow and the downturn of his mouth.

So he talked. 

He told Adrian about Peter’s calm acceptance of some nameless mission and Robin’s indignance that went unheard. Told him about his oldest brother coming home with a limp, one too many bruises, and a frown that spelled _danger_. Told him about Robin’s final rebellion at the dining table, leaving his favorite childhood foods untouched as Father threw him away like the past twenty years of his son’s life were _nothing_.

The more he spoke, the hotter the anger felt in his throat. It sparked and breathed and hissed, churning in his chest as his words grew harsher and raspier. Adrian sat there the whole time, listening.

“I don’t know why I’m so angry,” Stuart whispered. He thought about Robin’s arms around him, a weight he still couldn’t shake off, and his brother’s stupid promises that were as worthless as his place at Father’s side. “He - he really tried.”

His friend only looked on calmly. 

“I was angry when my dad told me about my mom,” he said after a long minute, when Stuart’s jagged breaths finally began to smooth. “Apparently she died only a few weeks after I was born. I was mad that I never got to meet her. Mad that it might’ve been my fault.”

“Oh,” Stuart said stupidly, throat tightening.

“It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t thinking it through,” Adrian continued, “because you have a right to be mad. Your brother was supposed to be there for you and he had to leave.”

“It’s - ”

“Not stupid.” 

One minute, then two. Stuart shut his eyes tightly as a dull ache began to flare beneath his temples. He couldn’t tell if it was from a lack of sleep or a side effect of the hurt in his heart. Gripping his hair in his hands, he let out a harsh sigh.

“I said really mean things to Mary,” he said miserably instead, because that was easier than thinking about Robin and his big eyes and his big heart.

(He wondered if Mother had ever talked to his brother about shutting himself down).

Adrian leaned back against his hands, chewing on his lip and frowning. “Then apologize.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t have a sister.” _Nor do you have one less brother._ Stuart’s words were petty and muffled from where he’d pressed his hands against his mouth, but Adrian understood him nonetheless.

One long minute of silence passed, before he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. Stuart cracked one eye open, trailing his gaze down to where his friend was grabbing his sweater. He didn’t protest, letting Adrian haul him upwards until they were only a few inches apart. 

“Cry if you need to,” was all Adrian said.

Stuart had always been quick to anger. He was even quicker to cry.

As soon as the red glare of rage began to fade, the downpour began. Adrian said nothing as Stuart slumped forward, pressing his forehead against his shoulder, chest aching and heaving with sobs that hurt more than any punch ever could.

_I’ll see you again, Stuart,_ Robin had said.

They both knew that birds didn’t return to their nest once they left.

* * *

If he thought having a whole breakdown on his friend’s shoulder was embarrassing, Stuart wished he could go back in time and slap himself in the face because _he had no idea what was coming_. 

Apologizing to Mary was possibly the most awkward thing he’d ever done. 

Robin’s farewell (abandonment, departure, defection) had left a rift in their family Stuart had never seen before. It was like relearning how to walk without a leg. Stuart didn’t know how to fill the silence, didn’t know who else would be around to ruffle his hair and trap him in useless headlocks and dry him off when it rained. Mother began arguing with Father more, far more than they ever had before, Peter buried himself in more missions despite still having that goddamn limp, and Mary -

Mary ignored him. Completely.

And Stuart wasn’t foolish enough to think that a simple extra cup of tea was going to cut it this time.

His brother was gone, and everything still hurt. Stuart didn’t know when the pain would end, and he didn’t dare to hope for its disappearance. 

( _Because feeling okay and feeling without bleeding out meant being okay with Robin being gone._

And Stuart would never be okay with that).

It didn’t mean, as much as his sister had pissed him off with her words, that he had the right to hurt her in return.

The first time he tried to apologize, his sister had taken one look at him, turned on her heel, and left before he could even get a word out. Stuart spent the rest of that day sparring with Adrian in the courtyard, the soreness of fresh bruises and properly made fists a welcome distraction from everything else that throbbed.

The second time, Stuart made some progress. By progress that meant he got to say Mary’s name before the door slammed in his face. 

He was tempted to kick her door in retaliation, but stopped just before his foot made contact. 

They rarely fought like this. Their battles in the past were nothing but petty skirmishes compared to this war.

(At the very least, it gave him some form of purpose, rather than mourning his not-even-dead brother like a pathetic little - 

“You’re not being stupid,” Adrian snapped. “You’re allowed to be sad.”

So he allowed himself to mourn).

“Mary,” he said quietly, pressing his back to the door. “I just want to talk to you. Please?” 

No answer.

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I stand by them but I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

No answer. He marched on.

* * *

“She won’t talk to me, Mama. I don’t know that to do.”

“...Your sister will come around, Stuart.”

“Are you mad too?”

A hand on his shoulder, but not his face.

“Not at you, baobei.”

* * *

Stuart was sitting by himself in the garden, staring out at the empty streets, when he heard footsteps come up from behind him.

Mary sat down next to him, arms crossed tensely over her chest as she resolutely glared ahead.

_Finally talking to me now? After a week?_ Stuart wanted to gripe, but he bit his tongue. His sister was terrifying when truly angry, and he knew sarcasm would just set her off even more.

Forcing himself to relax, Stuart turned away. After a long minute passed, he opened his mouth to begin the apology he’d had a week - _again, a fucking week_ \- to rehearse, but Mary just cut him off.

“I’m mad about Robin too, okay?” she snapped.

Stuart shut his mouth. She barreled on.

“Just because he loved you the most doesn’t mean I couldn’t - I couldn’t _appreciate_ him too,” she said harshly. “Maybe I was wrong to call him useless all the time. But in the end he still got to talk to Father and lead at least some part of the Syndicate. At the end of the day, I’m just Peter’s annoying little shadow. The third best.” 

Ignoring the insinuation that Stuart was the fourth best out of four, he said, “I get it.”

“Do you? Do you get it?” Mary asked, whirling around. Finally, she looked him in the eye after a week, and Stuart’s skin prickled at how unfamiliar her glare felt. “Just because I wasn’t as chummy with him as you were, doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be mad!”

“I never - ” Okay, he did say that. Stuart shook his head, saying instead, “I’m _sorry_ , Mary.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were glassy but she didn’t cry. It was just another thing she was better at doing than Stuart was.

“I try so hard, every day, just to - to _be_ worthy of my place here, but no one ever notices. Father doesn’t talk to any of us, Peter only does whenever it’s related to work, and half the time I don’t even know where Mother is anymore. You’re always with _Adrian_ now and you’re going to leave me just like _Robin_ left us - ”

“That’s not _true_ , I’m not leaving you - ”

“ - and _you’re_ the only person who’s ever listened to me and fought me like I’m on the same level, and you’re the only person who’s ever seen me for me, so imagine how _I_ feel when you say all that shit to me, Stuart! Fuck, I’m trying and I still don’t even belong here - ”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He lurched forward and wrapped his arms around her. Mary went stiff immediately, hands hovering at her sides like she had no idea what to do with them.

“Let - let _go of me_!” she yelled.

“I’m sorry,” Stuart whispered, eyes burning. He didn’t care that Hatfords weren’t supposed to apologize. He didn’t care at all. “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t know you felt that way. I promise I’m not going to leave you like he did. I promise.” 

She sucked in a trembling breath. 

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I was hurting and I still am hurting, and I really hate Robin for leaving, but it wasn’t his fault and it certainly wasn’t yours. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, the tension began to leave Mary’s muscles. She sagged against Stuart, not hugging him back but leaning her weight into his chest. It was enough.

“Do you miss him?” she whispered, voice breaking.

“More than anything,” Stuart answered. Shutting his eyes before any tears could slip away, he added quietly, “I missed you too.” 

She nodded and didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to. Stuart understood anyway.

Ever since Robin left, he had been nursing a hollowness in his chest. Letting the melancholy grow, fester, make itself a home inside his heart, occasionally peek out between his ribs like windows. He had cherished that sadness, because it meant that his brother was someone incredibly great to him; because it meant that he still _loved_ and still had the strength not to let someone go just because they were gone. 

But all this time he hadn’t realized -

Being without Mary, without his sister’s bony elbows digging into his sides or her occasional shadowy smirk or her teasing that never hurt as much as it should’ve -

That had hurt like hell too.

* * *

“You did it.” If Stuart didn’t know any better, he’d think that was pride he was seeing in Adrian’s face.

“I did.” 

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Oh, Ade, you have no fucking idea how bad it was.”

* * *

Getting tattoos of the family initials once you fully integrated into the Hatford Syndicate was a rite of passage.

Stuart was fourteen when Father brought it up to him and Mary.

It was still difficult to look his Father in the eye and not feel cold, blinding ire for throwing Robin away. 

(Because that was what it was. It wasn’t his brother defecting, it wasn’t his brother betraying them, as much as Stuart sometimes wished it was - because that would’ve made it easier. No, it was their Father throwing him away).

The grief was less potent, four months later, but it was still there. Ever-present, like a stray hangnail. Or a picture frame that was always just a little bit crooked. Cloaked in the shadows, tucked securely between his fourth and fifth rib, shielding the way to his heart like a loyal friend Stuart could never shake loose.

It was that lingering grief, holding his hand, hugging his chest, that kept Stuart from immediately saying yes to his Father’s idea.

Mary glanced at him out of the corner of his eye when he said nothing, before taking over. At fifteen, she’d grown only stronger and better. 

(But not _taller_ , Stuart spitefully added as she dipped her head and started speaking).

“I think it might be wise if you let us have some more experience in the field before giving us the official crest, Father,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my confidence in you?”

_Yes, forgive me if I don’t trust you anymore after you basically disowned your son like he was nothing, after you ignored my sister for her entire childhood_ , Stuart wanted to hiss just as Mary said, “It would make it more meaningful, and we’re more than ready.”

Apparently Father thought _making it more meaningful_ meant throwing Stuart aside to become Peter’s next problem while putting Mary in charge of their finances. 

For someone who was the head of a crime syndicate, he could be very ignorant sometimes.

Mary was furious but didn’t show it. Stuart could read the rage in the tense lines of her shoulders and the clenched fists she held behind her back, but she nodded and thanked their father all the same and left.

“You know, you’d do much better than I would,” Stuart said between gasping breaths, as the two of them collapsed to the ground after a brutal sparring session. He wasn’t necessarily happy to serve himself up as his sister’s cathartic punching bag, but he figured he’d need the practice anyway.

Mary wiped sweat off her forehead, looking only slightly less pissed. 

“Father doesn’t,” she said. _That’s what matters_.

Shaking out his aching limbs, Stuart pushed himself to his feet. “Maybe if I disappear under mysterious circumstances you can take over for me,” he said off-handedly.

Her head whipped in his direction, dark eyes wide. “Don’t say that,” she hissed.

“I was joking.” 

“Tasteless joke. You’re tasteless.” 

Stuart couldn’t help but smile, even if he didn’t mean it at all. “Aw, you do care about me, Mary.” 

She didn’t dignify him with an answer, only muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _older sister_ and _legally obligated to care for you_. Stuart doubted there was actually a law commanding that. Then again, it wasn’t as if _law_ had ever mattered to their family.

“You’ll get to it,” Stuart said as they headed back inside. “He’ll realize someday.”

“I believe you,” Mary said distantly. 

She didn’t.

Slinking off to his own room to lick his wounds in private, Stuart dug out the first-aid kit from under his bed and propped it open on his desk. He was too preoccupied with his own things to notice the figure standing just behind him.

“She beat you again?” 

He jumped, hard. 

“ _Shit_. Adrian, stop doing that.”

His friend approached him, taking the kit and bandages out of his hands. He tilted his head, and Stuart obediently sat down while rolling his eyes the entire way there.

“It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention to your surroundings,” Adrian said quietly as he began wrapping his knuckles up. 

“You’re probably right. I should start doing that now,” Stuart muttered, wiggling his fingers, relishing the sharp sting that came from the movements. “I just trust you too much.”

“I could’ve killed you five times by now,” Adrian agreed.

“Twenty,” he corrected. His friend looked up at him, lips twitching in a tiny smile, before moving on to his other hand. Stuart was content with just watching him work. There was something oddly calming about the methodical way Adrian went about with his healing, picking apart the worst wounds and tending to them first, his touch firm but strangely soft at the same time. 

His hair, which he’d started gelling up lately, was down that day. His bangs flopped over his forehead, obscuring his eyes as he worked, and Stuart had to bite down on the urge to reach out and comb his hair back for him.

(Even gone, Robin was still rubbing off on him, he thought bitterly. Robin and his annoying penchant for ruffling people’s hair).

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Stuart returned to watching his friend.

Still, his attention strayed. He only returned to his body when he felt a light touch on his cheek, and Stuart jolted in a way that was definitely embarrassing enough he’d agonize over it at night. Adrian didn’t even blink.

“Are you alright?” he checked. Stuart stared at him dumbly, lips slightly parted. 

“Uh - ”

“You have a cut here.” Adrian lightly swabbed at the scrape, either unaware or purposely ignoring the way Stuart just stared blankly at him, before unpeeling a bandage. His fingers were almost gentle as he pressed it over the injury, hands falling to grasp at Stuart’s chin and tilt his head this way and that, as if he was checking for anything he’d missed.

The whole time, Stuart’s mind reeled like a dancer who had done one too many spins. 

The last few weeks felt like all he’d done was fight, fight, fight. Physical pain was preferable to the lingering grief that always tucked itself against his side. An unwelcome companion as he slept, a clingy friend grasping at his arm. 

He’d forgotten how good a simple touch could feel. One that didn’t threaten to break skin with its power, but rather one that could spear his heart apart, cup its shattered parts in knowing hands, and gently piece it back together.

None of those words made it farther than Stuart’s sternum, as much as he was tempted to spit them out - not like poison, but overly ripe honey.

Adrian dropped his hands after a long moment, and their gazes snagged. Suddenly the silence grew too heavy. Stuart had to break it.

“Would you join me?” he found himself asking. Adrian met his gaze again with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

His Father’s offer, Mary’s disappointment, the tattoos - all of it was fresh in his mind, blood staining snow. 

“The Syndicate. And me. Would you join me?” 

Something glinted uncomfortably in his friend’s eyes as he slowly sat down at Stuart’s side, lips twisting. Absently, he fiddled with one of the gauze rolls.

“I got by fine all these years without the Syndicate, Stuart,” he said after a long minute. “I don’t need your protection.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t - I mean, I _do_ want to protect you, but - ” Well, apparently he had a hidden talent for digging himself into holes now. He sucked in a sharp breath before he could say anything else - judging by Adrian’s expression, it was already too late for that.

Stuart looked away again. He could never seem to meet his friend’s eyes that day. 

“Between you and me, Ade,” he said, “I think we both know you’re the more dangerous one anyway.”

“Right,” Adrian mused. 

“I just - I want to be with - with _you_. All the time. I know all your fighting moves by now. It’d be nice to see them used on someone else for a change.” 

“Are you calling me boring?”

“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”

“I don’t know, Stuart.” He was staring resolutely at his hands as he spoke, like he’d find the answer written in his palms. “You know how I felt about being here in the first place.” 

_If something happens to my father, why else do you think he brought me to your family?_ Stuart knew it all too well. He knew that Adrian’s father, as good of a man as he was, considered the Hatfords his own insurance. He knew that Adrian would never want to be a part of something, knowing they might view him as a burden (not because he thought himself a liability, but because he hated the idea that someone else might). He knew that Adrian understood, in some sick, fucked-up way, that he would never belong. He was like Mary in that way.

There was nothing Stuart could do to remedy it but insist that he, _and he alone_ , would always have a place for Adrian.

( _You always have a place next to me_ , a void that sounded suspiciously like Robin agreed).

(( _Not you_ , Stuart wanted to hiss or cry or scream. _Not now_ )).

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed Adrian’s answer.

“But if I ever did join, it would be for you.”

Oh.

Just like that.

A smile twitched listlessly at Stuart’s lips, but it was the most genuine thing he’d felt in a while. He could tell Adrian felt the same, from the way his friend shifted, close enough that their elbows just barely brushed.

It was okay. 

In that moment, things felt okay. A precarious, sorry, and banged-up version of okay, but still okay nonetheless.

Stuart absently reached up and pressed his fingers against the new bandage adorning his face. It stung slightly, but this time he paid it no mind.

For so many months, he’d latched onto pain. To remind himself of who he’d lost. To remind himself not to let go.

But there was warmth too. 

Maybe the two could coexist, just a little. He figured even hollow canyons were once carved out by great rivers. Even hollow canyons filled with liquid sunlight and gold on the best summer days.

Maybe.

Stuart didn’t think of anything or anyone for a long moment. It was just him and Adrian sitting in his bedroom, the remnants of a first-aid kit scattered on the blankets, and the beginnings of a promise. 

_For you_.

* * *

Sometimes Stuart looked at himself in the mirror and wondered where he’d possibly put his family crest.

The arm or wrist was a simple and common location, but too predictable. Stuart hated being predictable.

Maybe he’d get one on his back. Those seemed cool. Or his hip. 

Or nowhere at all.

Tugging his shirt collar back down, Stuart laid on his bed with a loud sigh. He and Peter were set to begin their mission in a few days. After, granted that everything worked out, Stuart would officially be a part of the Syndicate. 

He just hoped the mission would be simple enough. 

* * *

The mission was extracting information on a mysterious new Moriyama heir. _So fucking easy_.

They didn’t know who the child was, Peter told him, but whoever it was would be the next heir to the main empire. They could either take both the head of the empire and the child out, which Stuart thought was an incredibly stupid idea, or they could wait until the child was old enough to take over for their allegedly even worse father, which Stuart thought was a marginally better idea.

But first, they had to find out who the kid was.

“We have a few potential contacts according to our other connections,” Peter said quietly as they walked down the narrow London streets. “We just can’t predict how much they’ll know about the main family.”

“If we go with the second option,” Stuart said carefully, after a short silence, “how likely do you think it is that the kid will even - even be better?”

“We don’t,” Peter said. “But leaving the current Lord in his place is too dangerous. For everyone, including us. And I’d rather not have to kill the heir lest we make even more enemies.”

“What’s the Lord’s name?”

Peter’s look wasn’t just unamused, it was the _you are such a stupid child I cannot believe your gall_ look. Stuart couldn’t believe he’d wondered where Mary had learned that glare from. 

“Not here,” was all he said, before suddenly grabbing his arm. Stuart barely held back his jolt at the movement. “You let me handle the first target.”

“Yes, Father,” Stuart grumbled as he let Peter drag him down a nearby alleyway.

“This isn’t a joke, Stuart. You’re going to see death today. Maybe a lot of it. If you don’t get with the program you will fuck it up for both of us.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” He couldn’t deny the nauseating nervousness churning in his stomach at Peter’s words.

Stuart had known for a while now, especially after Robin had left, what they dealt with. It didn’t bother him much anymore, in theory. 

But the idea that he’d see it in person today - 

He didn’t know how to feel.

_You aren’t supposed to_ , he could hear his sister hissing in his head. _That’s why I would’ve been better for the job._

_Shut the hell up_ , Stuart ordered her even though he agreed.

Their first target was an older man with tattoos running up his forearms. Peter trailed him expertly, though Stuart couldn’t help but wince as he spotted the slight limp in his brother’s confident steps.

He’d never completely healed after that day. 

They stopped just outside a coffee shop, not following the man inside. Stuart leaned against the wall as Peter looked around, shifting his weight to his good side every now and then.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see two more people approaching them, a woman with her hair down over her face and a man with his face hidden behind a mask. Automatically, he tensed, clenching his fists in his coat pockets as they got closer. 

The woman peered down at him first. Her eyes were lined heavily in black, and her lips twitched in a smile.

“Hello, little one,” she said quietly. “Out with the pack?” 

Stuart glared at her as harshly as she could. “Who are you?” 

“No time, Judith,” the man hissed. Well, that answered his question. She just rolled her eyes before turning toward him, deftly tugging up her sleeve for one second to flash him her wrist.

Their initials.

“One of yours,” she said. “Just making sure nothing goes wrong.”

Turning toward Peter, the man said, “We think the guy might be on his way to meet with someone. Possibly an associate with the family. That part, we’re not sure about.”

“We’ll get him before that happens,” Peter said.

“Alright. We can’t stay out for much longer, but we will meet you at the first point.”

“That’s fine. Stuart and I will take it from here.” Stuart tried not to react to the fact that his brother had just tacked him onto their mission like he wasn’t a mere footnote for once.

The man gave him a curt nod and started to head off in the opposite direction. The woman - Judith - paused for a moment, tilting her head at Stuart. 

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing you around a lot more, little one,” she said, before reaching out and messing up his hair. _What was it about Stuart’s hair that was just so damn appealing_ , he wanted to hiss. “Off you pop.” 

Then she turned and followed after the man - her partner, Stuart assumed. Peter raised an eyebrow at him as he tried to fix his hair, muttering disgruntled swears under his breath. Once Stuart settled, they fell into silence. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t terrible either. 

About ten minutes after the man had gone into the coffee shop, Stuart turned to his brother. “Can I see your tattoo?”

“It’s not exactly something I show off in public,” Peter said, not looking his way.

“I don’t know. I guess I just want ideas on where to get mine,” Stuart muttered.

His brother glanced around surreptitiously for a long moment, before sighing and getting off the wall. He turned so that his back was facing the rest of the street, rolling his sleeve up to his elbow.

There, in the crook of his elbow, was their family crest. Only members of the Hatfords could get a crest - others in the Syndicate only got their initials - and Stuart couldn’t help but gasp quietly at its intricate design. Nestled in the shield was a snake and a dragon, curling together in harmony. The snake glistened in red ink while the dragon was in all black, and sitting snugly in between their intertwined bodies were their initials: _HS_.

It was beautiful and warned of danger.

Peter only let him look for a few seconds before tugging his sleeve back down. “You’ll get yours soon enough,” he said, before pressing his back against the wall once more. Stuart blinked, before imitating his brother’s position.

“Did it hurt?” he asked quietly.

Something was twisted in Peter’s otherwise elegant and emotionless face as he answered, “In the grand scheme of things? No, it didn’t hurt at all.” 

Stuart opened his mouth to ask him what he meant, but he never got to. 

The door swung open, and out stepped their target. Peter held up a hand for him to shut up, suddenly even tenser than before. Whatever easy air had settled between them disappeared in an instant.

“Follow me,” he said, before heading after the man. 

Stuart followed him.

* * *

It didn’t even count as a fight.

Stuart watched as his brother easily took down the man, twisting his arms behind his back so harshly even one twitch could’ve broken bone. Holding a dagger to the man’s jugular, Peter hissed quietly for him to _answer all his questions, and he’d live to see another day_.

The man didn’t have the answers, because he didn’t know.

The man didn’t live anyway.

Stuart didn’t throw up but he was close. He didn’t even know a broken neck could look like - _that_.

* * *

Stuart didn’t have nightmares about it because - well, he couldn’t really have nightmares if he couldn’t sleep in the first place. 

He knew the man was a bad person, and he deserved what was coming.

Maybe it was the realization that the more Stuart involved himself in the Syndicate, in his family’s work - 

The more likely it was that he’d have to do the same exact thing. 

There was a hole in their family, and Father wasn’t letting Mary fill it, and Adrian probably wasn’t going to make himself an option for a while, so it would have to be Stuart. 

Shutting his eyes restlessly, he moved his hands slowly, miming his brother’s exact movements when he’d ended their target’s life.

_Life is cruel, but so are you_. 

_Snap!_ His hands flew, vicious and sharp.

Another life ended.

* * *

It was their third target that finally had some answers.

Rei was the man’s name. According to Judith he was the most likely one to have an in with the head of the Moriyamas, and therefore the most dangerous. 

She’d been right.

The man had managed to pinpoint Peter’s weakness immediately - his left side. Stuart’s brother was strong, perhaps the strongest fighter in their family, but it wasn’t easy with his bad leg.

So when Rei whipped out his knife and aimed it for Peter, Stuart saw red.

One powerful kick to the man’s side had him reeling. Stuart decked him again in the face for good measure, using the distraction to yank Rei’s arm around his back. Grunting in pain, his fingers loosened on the knife, and Stuart deftly caught it before holding the blade to Rei’s throat.

“Peter,” he hissed when his brother didn’t move, pressing the knife against his jugular.

It was strange, how tough skin could be until it wasn’t.

His brother shook off his shock, straightening up with a huff before approaching Rei to begin his interrogation.

By the time they finished, they were both a little bloodier than before.

Judith would be back to take care of the body, Peter said. They were in an abandoned warehouse that no one had been to in decades, so they would be safe.

Stuart tightened his coat around himself, and ignored the feeling of blood soaking through his gloves.

* * *

The baby heir’s name was Ichirou.

He was only four years-old.

* * *

Peter didn’t leave until Judith had given them the go-ahead. They were on their way back to the car when he couldn’t take the silence any longer. His hands were stained, Peter had gotten his answers, but Stuart had never gotten his.

“What happened last year?” 

Peter glanced at him. Every time they finished a fight, his limp was more pronounced.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“What happened last year that was so bad that Robin left?” Stuart amended. 

That did the trick. 

His brother’s shoulders sagged. He stopped walking completely, and Stuart mimicked his movements.

“I almost died,” he said after a long minute.

Stuart flinched. Peter continued, voice removed of any emotion at all, “There were too many of them. I was supposed to get information from one person, which was a situation I would’ve been able to handle. It was a set-up.”

“But you escaped,” were the words slipping past numb lips, as Robin’s warning echoed endlessly through his head, clear like he’d only spoken them yesterday. _One of us won’t make it out in time._

Peter seemed to hear it too. His gaze softened only a fraction as he looked at Stuart again.

“Robin knew that as long as our plan didn’t have any setbacks, it would carry out smoothly as intended, over the next several years,” Peter said. “Father didn’t send him out on the missions but he was integral in the process. Robin was smart. So he knew what would happen if he backed out of the Syndicate.”

Stuart blinked as the pieces slowly began to come together. 

“He sabotaged it.”

“Well, we are still going through with it. We have no choice,” Peter said. “Just - slower. But yes, he did what he could.”

“Oh.”

His brother glanced down at him, wordlessly looking for something in Stuart. He didn’t know if he ended up finding anything he wanted, because Peter just swung his gaze down to his gloved hands. They wore black so they wouldn’t see the blood on the surface.

“Robin had his own reasons too, of course,” he said softly.

Stuart forced himself to start walking again. Peter followed. 

They didn’t speak again, not in the car, not on their way home. All Stuart could think about was his brother who redefined paradoxes. Who was too soft to throw a punch but hardened enough to stand up against Father. Who wanted to do good things but sabotaged his own people to do it. Who was selfish enough to realize he deserved better but selfless enough to hope his siblings would one day realize it too.

Stuart didn’t hate him anymore. Really, he never had.

He just felt heavy and empty now.

They didn’t speak again until they were at the doorstep to their home. 

“Kengo,” Peter said suddenly, hand poised over the doorknob. Stuart glanced up at him in confusion.

“Who?”

“The Lord of the Moriyama empire.” His brother met his gaze, eyes cold and unflinching. “His name is Kengo.”

He left Stuart standing numbly at the doorstep.

_Kengo_. He mulled the name over in his head, warping its syllables until it sounded like meaningless garbage against his tongue.

If he had his way, he’d never have to meet the man. If he had his way, Kengo Moriyama would be _long gone_ before Stuart ever had to do anything at all.

* * *

He and Mary finally got the tattoos. She’d gotten it on her shoulder. Stuart got his on his chest.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Skin reddened around his collarbone where the snake and dragon had been etched permanently into his body. 

His brother had been right, he mused, resisting the urge to touch the tender area. 

In the face of everything else, it didn’t hurt at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: stuart goes on a boba date and realizes things
> 
> who are these moriyamas, never heard of them


	5. milk tea and a side of melancholy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adrian takes stuart to a secondary location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil note from last chapter: i should prob mention that in this universe, ichirou and riko have a much larger age difference. this'll be important a lot later on, but just in case it wasn't implied by my canon taken out back and shot tag (LOL) - the hatfords and moriyamas will be interacting!!

Stuart hadn’t realized just how therapeutic chewing on a drink could be until Adrian dragged him out of bed and into the nearest bubble tea store.

(That was the most severe oversimplification of anything Stuart had ever done in his _life_ ).

The patch of skin where he’d gotten his tattoo didn’t sting anymore. The hole in his ribs where grief had knocked a couple bones out and made itself a permanent home sang with agony.

It was officially a year since Robin had left their family. Since he’d grown his own wings and flown from the nest, but not before getting thrown down to the ground first. And without fights or missions to keep Stuart preoccupied for the week, his treacherous mind wandered back down the corridors of his home - the same hallways his brother used to walk too.

Mary could sense the change in his mood, and for once in her life, made the wise choice to leave him on his own. Not because Stuart didn’t want her company, but because she knew seeing her face would only remind him of the dagger words he’d spat in her face that night. 

Guilt and grief shouldn’t be so close. Shouldn’t be so open to companions.

Stuart would’ve loved to be the third wheel.

So when the day that marked a year of his brother’s absence finally came, Stuart found himself unable to get out of bed. His chest ached every time he breathed and he knew it didn’t come from any injury. No, the sun decided to disappear for the day, and every patch of skin and soul it used to kiss only shivered with ghostly cold. 

He hated feeling that way. It made him useless. It made him slow. But he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t talked to Robin in a year and it wasn’t normal and it shouldn’t have been something he had to _make normal_ , but it _was_ and Stuart was just talking - or thinking, he hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours - in circles by then. Maybe he was slowly losing his mind.

The list of his losses was growing bigger and bigger. He wouldn’t have been surprised at all.

Stuart didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the dim light from outside was growing a little more watery by the passing hour, when the door to his bedroom flew open.

“I locked the door,” he grumbled into his pillows.

Adrian’s voice was both too loud and too soft. 

“You should know by now that I am better than your locks.”

There was a metaphor in there. Somewhere.

“Not now, Ade,” Stuart groaned.

The bed dipped down where his friend sat by his side. He didn’t touch Stuart, and he couldn’t tell if he was grateful or not.

“I have a proposition for you,” Adrian said instead when neither of them made a move for the next minute. Stuart managed to flick his wrist in his direction - _go ahead_.

“I’m going to take you out - ”

“Like a hit job, or…”

“ - and you’re going to stop thinking for two hours and spend the time with me instead. You’ve been in bed all day.”

Stuart shut his eyes tightly. “You’re not taking me to a secondary location,” he muttered, just for the sake of being difficult. Adrian didn’t rise to his bait.

“There are no secondary locations planned for today. But, there is a new bubble tea shop that just opened, and the last time I had one was with my father when I was eight, and I would like to try it out with you. I’m not letting you brood this entire day away.”

There was some part of him that knew, objectively, he’d probably feel better once he got moving. Once he was distracted enough to stop thinking about how he’d never learned to cut his losses, how much he missed his brother, how angry he still was at his Father, all the time. Adrian wasn’t offering an easy fix, they both knew that, but he was offering a hand. A hand to hold on to until Stuart could get back on his feet again.

But Stuart’s bones ached and he couldn’t tell where the wound was, only that it was everywhere and anywhere, a hole in a ship bound to keep sinking, and without thinking twice he spat, “I’ll brood however the fuck I want. Now leave me alone.”

* * *

He did not get to brood however the fuck he wanted.

Adrian ended up hauling him out of bed and throwing a coat in his direction, not even looking the slightest bit guilty when the heavy wool slapped Stuart in the face.

“You’re making that face again,” he said as the two of them walked down the streets toward the nearby town square.

“What face?” Stuart scowled.

“Your _if you look at me I will kill you_ face.”

“Sorry, I’ll make sure to look pretty for you next time.” He plastered on the fakest smile he had. “Better?”

“Mm. Do that again and maybe I will take you to a secondary location.”

“It doesn’t work when you tell your victim ahead of time,” Stuart muttered. Something sparked in his chest at their banter, though, and he held on to it. 

The air smelled like the prelude to a storm. Wind picked up, sending a tiny chill through Stuart despite his coat, and he couldn’t help but feel the slightest amount of relief when Adrian finally led them to the shop.

Tucked in between a grocery store and some other coffee place, it was more a hole in the wall than anything. There were a few people already milling about inside, either talking with someone else or working alone on their laptops. Adrian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Not as dodgy as you thought, right?” 

“Oh, you’re picking up our slang now,” Stuart said. “When will you consider the accent?”

“I like my own accent much better, thank you,” Adrian replied easily, before pushing the door open. “Onward, Your Highness.”

“You’re talking a lot more today,” he grumbled as he walked past his friend, choosing a random spot by the window to spill himself into. When he looked back up, there was a strange expression on Adrian’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it’d come.

“And you’re quiet today,” was all he said, before tossing a menu at him. Stuart suppressed a hiss. Adrian _really_ needed to stop throwing things like knives - one of these days he’d actually blind Stuart. 

In the end, neither of them really needed the menu in the first place because they both ordered milk teas. Any reasonable bubble tea shop would _not_ be able to fuck up a simple milk tea. It was easy. Predictable. Milk tea wouldn’t let Stuart down, unlike _certain people in his family_.

He was right. The milk tea was actually quite good.

Stuart stabbed the straw into his cup with a vengeance while Adrian looked on silently, taking a long sip out of his own drink. The pearls were gooey and sweet, a little on the side of too chewy but not enough to rankle him. Bells jingled every now and then as new customers floated in and out of the place, and when Stuart looked outside at the rest of the square, he couldn’t help but notice all the families milling about. Whole families who didn’t have missing sons or crests inked in secrecy or blood on their hands.

It was ridiculous and sad enough to make him laugh. 

His friend raised an eyebrow slowly as Stuart snorted to himself. “Something funny?”

“I’m third in line to inherit an entire crime syndicate and you’d probably be on the FBI’s most wanted list if you’d just let yourself, and here we are, drinking bubble tea.”

Apparently Adrian didn’t think it was funny.

He pushed his drink to the side and leaned forward, insistently, until Stuart finally met his gaze. Underneath the warm light of the shop, surrounded by the fragrance of honey and sugar, Adrian looked surprisingly sweet just then. Not at all like the boy with iron edges and cherry blossom smiles who knew how to properly throw a punch at the tender age of ten. 

“Stuart,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I know what day it is.”

Suddenly the pearls didn’t taste too sweet anymore.

“Huh,” Stuart said blandly.

“I know you miss Robin. I know you probably think it’s wrong to try and move on, to think of anything or anyone other than him today, but it’s okay to feel tired.” He stirred his straw in his drink slowly. “I think - you remember him in your own ways, every day, whether you realize that or not. Holding onto your pain isn’t the only way to honor someone’s importance to you.” 

Stuart didn’t think the lump in his throat was from the tea.

Adrian went on. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel. You’re hurting and I know that taking you out for bubble tea isn’t going to fix shit, but I want you to understand that wanting to stop hurting doesn’t mean you don’t love him anymore.” 

_You’re right_ , Stuart wanted to say, or scream. Whichever came first. _You’re right. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I’m sick and tired of hurting, I’m just a kid, I’m fifteen years-old and I haven’t been a kid for a long time, I want to be okay I want to be okay I want to be okay_.

What came out instead was, “I keep thinking that feeling okay, today, or any other day, means I’ve accepted the fact that - that Father just threw him away.”

“That’s not true,” Adrian said.

“But what the fuck else am I supposed to think?” Stuart demanded.

“You’re not betraying Robin by wanting to be okay,” his friend said softly. 

Oh.

Grief clutched onto his shoulders tightly, begging him to pay attention. Its embrace was cold and still, the brief moments of time in between lightning strikes and rumbling thunder. 

Grief told him that it was the only way out. It told him that as soon as he asked it to leave, it’d pack its bags alongside _love_ and _memories_ and _Robin_. It told him he couldn’t possibly want that.

Adrian, at some point, began to hold onto his trembling hands, gently stealing his attention away. His embrace was warm and calloused and familiar, the melancholy sunlight smoothing away scarred petrichor in the aftermath of the storm.

Adrian told him that healing wasn’t betrayal. He told him that even if Stuart asked his grief to leave, it wouldn’t go easily, but neither would love or memories or Robin. He told him it was okay to begin stepping away on his own anyway.

Stuart sagged forward, pressing his forehead to the cool wooden table. Adrian never let him go, never pressed harder than just a light brush of skin against skin. He let out a harsh breath, and for once he couldn’t tell if the ache in his heart was relief or pain or both.

It took a while before he felt ready to look up again. His friend slowly sat back, returning his hands to his drink and taking another small sip, watching Stuart the entire time.

He still felt fractured and shitty and sad. 

But he also thought that, when he decided to start working, to start putting his pieces back together, he wouldn’t wish to nick himself on their jagged edges.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, barely audible over the music playing over the speakers.

Adrian’s lips twitched in another one of his sakura smiles, but he didn’t say anything else. He just moved his straw until he could find another patch of pearls, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before huffing.

“These are a bit overcooked, don’t you think?” he commented.

Stuart couldn’t help but laugh again. This time he thought he meant it.

“They are. What a goddamn shame.” 

* * *

“We could go to the park after this,” Adrian said on their way out of the shop.

“I told you, you aren’t taking me to a secondary location.” 

* * *

They went to the park.

Living only a couple miles away from the park had its perks. Stuart knew it by heart. Quaint cobblestone paths snaked their way around the perimeter, occasionally cutting across rolling green hills. Oaks spilled shade upon the sidewalks, splattering darker patches of green over emerald grass and old gray.

The air was crisp and cold, nipping at his nose and lungs. It was a welcome distraction from the stuffiness back home. Stuart hadn’t realized how suffocating it had become until Adrian had dragged him out.

It was a change that Stuart relished.

Muscle memory smarted and told him it wasn’t right to distract himself today. Muscle memory yanked at the back of his shirt like an annoying child, pointed toward grief and barked for him to _pay attention_.

Stuart tried to push aside the darker thoughts. It was still hard, and he was sure a few stormclouds still escaped from between his too-small hands, but for once, he didn’t find himself thinking about how much he wanted Robin back.

He just thought that Robin would’ve liked this kind of weather too. 

(He definitely would’ve scolded Stuart for drinking something cold on such a cloudy day).

It wasn’t much, it wasn’t easy, but it was something. And it mattered too.

His lips twitched in a slight smile at the thought. 

After a few moments of quiet, Stuart found himself pointing out some of the better spots in the park. Benches that only he knew how to find, oak trees that weren’t completely infested with ants. Adrian listened and took note, arms tucked securely over his chest as he nodded seriously like Stuart was giving a tour of the Buckingham Palace. 

It was a bit endearing.

“Mary got stung by a bee once there,” he said, pointing toward a secluded area just a few yards away from an empty playground. “She cried a lot.”

“How old was she?” Adrian asked, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t amused by the prospect of Mary crying. 

Stuart smirked. “Nine.”

Then he pointed toward the playground itself. He hesitated for a moment, testing the words out first, before letting them go.

“Robin used to take me here. He didn’t let me go on the swings because he always thought I’d fly off, but he didn’t have a problem pushing me down the slides.” 

Stuart paused. 

Huh. 

It didn’t hurt all that much.

Adrian’s expression was open and light. 

“Tell me more,” he said.

So Stuart did.

He pointed Adrian toward all the places Robin had taken him to. There, was the time Robin chased Stuart in circles around a tree so much that Stuart had ended up throwing up. There, was the time Robin had accidentally run into Peter while on a walk and got the both of them in trouble for being out by themselves. There, was the time Robin managed to convince Stuart that drinking coffee before he turned thirteen was a crime, then proceeded to whip out an iced coffee right in front of him and chugged the whole thing down. 

“Wasn’t he twelve?” Adrian asked.

“Yes. I thought my brother was going to get murdered in his sleep.”

“Did you cry?”

“State secrets.”

Ten minutes later, Stuart pointed toward a fountain. It was at the center of the park, where all the cobblestone paths converged, and water trickled gently into a glittering pool of pennies.

“Here, Robin met his first crush.” 

“Tell me about them.”

“I don’t know much. Robin just said he really liked her, but he got too busy with the Syndicate to see her often anymore.” Stuart shrugged as the two of them sat down at the edge of the marble. “He should be glad they didn’t last long enough for him to bring her home. I have so much blackmail material on him.”

“So now you’re telling me everything?” Adrian raised his eyebrows, and Stuart couldn’t stop the soft laughter from escaping him.

“It’s not like you’re going to do anything with it.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might just find Robin one day and get him to give me all his blackmail material on you. Don’t cross me, I’ll keep you both on your toes.”

It was a fantasy and they both knew it, but Stuart found himself indulging in the daydream anyway. 

“Yeah? Where’s _your_ blackmail material, Ade?”

“You’d have to ask my dad,” he said. “He’ll never tell you.”

“Bastard.”

“Prat.”

“You’re getting really good at Britishisms.” 

“Say _that_ one more time and I’ll never speak to you again.” 

Stuart laughed again. Each time, it came easier and easier. 

They fell into a comfortable quiet, watching the occasional stranger stroll by as the fountain went on and on in the background. Stuart would’ve been fine with staying there all day, with the aftertaste of sweet milk tea and nostalgia on his tongue, but the universe had other plans.

The first drop of rain fell onto his nose. Stuart tilted his head up just in time for another to crash onto his forehead.

Then, it was a downpour.

Stuart stood up, ready to make a mad dash to the nearest tree, when he felt a hand grab the back of his coat and haul him underneath the sanctuary of an umbrella.

“Get in here, idiot.” Stuart sputtered but obediently pressed himself against Adrian’s side. 

“Where did you even keep that?”

“You’d think that, as the London native, you’d know to keep an umbrella with you.”

“I bet you just hid a knife in there or something.” 

The look on Adrian’s face made Stuart do a double take.

“Wait, _really_?!”

“Like I’m going to tell you.”

They were both a little worse for wear, but neither of them tried to move away from the fountain. They were both beginning to hit their growth spurts, so it was a bit hard to fit underneath the umbrella. 

Adrian hadn’t let go of his coat. Suddenly, Stuart was acutely aware of everywhere they were touching - shoulder to shoulder, arm to back, side to side. The rain disrupted the sea of coins sitting at the bottom of the fountain, sent little waves cascading across white marble shores, but all Stuart could look at was Adrian.

Because outside of their tiny little circle there was a storm halfway brewed already, and Adrian somehow still managed to be the warmest thing around. Raindrops sat upon his damp hair like the jewels of a crown, and his irises could’ve been a richer gold than any of the copper pennies laying in their watery graves. Stuart was sure there was a word for how he looked just then, but he couldn't quite find it yet -

“Are you okay?” Adrian’s question was slow and tentative.

Stuart blinked, and belatedly realized he’d been staring at Adrian for way longer than what was socially acceptable. Heat suddenly rushed to his face as he cleared his throat and muttered, “Your hair’s messed up.”

“Oh.” There was a strange flush on his friend’s face too as he reached up and patted at his head, dislodging his crown. “Whatever.”  
  


Neither of them moved. Adrian dropped his hand from Stuart’s back like he just remembered it was there in the first place, but didn’t bother shifting away. And Stuart couldn’t exactly mourn that loss either, not when they were practically pressed together while the rest of the world wept around them.

“So - ”

“We’re kind of stuck here.”

Stuart cleared his throat again. Was he having throat problems? Maybe they really _had_ fucked up the milk tea. 

(But it’d tasted good at the time).

To his credit, Adrian looked like he was getting used to having Stuart _right there_. He turned his face away, glancing out at the rest of the park, lips twitching as he watched a couple unfortunate umbrella-less people rush about with their coats over their heads.

“You Londoners have become complacent,” he remarked. Stuart could barely hear him.

“Yeah,” he said absently. 

_Pretty_.

That was the word.

He looked pretty.

Stuart’s heart began to pound. What the fuck. What the - 

Oh.

_Oh_.

Adrian was still smiling, for some reason. Usually it would’ve been gone by now. That was why Stuart had declared it his _sakura smile_. It only ever lived for a short, fleeting moment.

It was _still there._

And it was beautiful.

And Stuart was in a shit ton of trouble because this was not how things were supposed to go. He was not supposed to feel this way about Adrian, was not supposed to linger on the upturn of his lips and wonder if they still tasted like bubble tea and honey. He was not supposed to be pressed up against his friend - not just his friend, but the _best_ friend he’d ever had - while they waited out the rain. 

He was not supposed to regret that he did not have a penny to toss into the fountain if only to wish that he could keep this forever. This moment, this Adrian, this rainy day that brought with it grief and healing and acceptance.

He was not supposed to fucking realize he was getting a crush on his best friend at the same place his brother had met _his_ first love too.

How poetic. How ironic.

( _You really do take after me, brother_ , a void that sounded suspiciously like Robin chuckled). 

(( _How are you still cursing me even now_ , Stuart wanted to yell)).

But he didn’t move, didn’t do anything. 

Just stared at Adrian like a fool while the world around him shifted. Whether it was moving back into place or just falling apart even more - 

Stuart couldn’t tell.

“ - weird that you have a tattoo now.”

He blinked harshly.

“W-What?” 

Adrian rolled his eyes. “I was saying that I thought it was weird your parents would let you get a tattoo now. I just thought of it. You know, Asian parents usually don’t let you do _anything_ until you’ve moved out.” 

“Oh.” Stuart was really saying that a lot. He had to stop. His knees felt weak. “They’re not exactly your conventional Asian parents.”

“My dad would let me get a tattoo only when I become a legal adult,” Adrian mused. “Not sure what I’d get.”

“You could get one like mine.” _Shut up, shut up, you colossal idiot_ , _oh my God_.

“Your crest? I’m not in your family, Stuart. The most I’d get is your initials.”

The words flew out before Stuart could stop them.

“You could.”

“What?”

“You could - be in the family. Yes.”

Adrian looked faintly amused. “I’m pretty sure the only way that would happen is if I’m your husband or something.”

To say Stuart choked would be an understatement.

“Huh - ”

“Though, if I also just got the initials,” Adrian continued like he wasn’t aware of the _stroke_ Stuart was probably about to have, “I suppose I’d just look like a very clingy partner. That’s not ideal either. I do have a reputation.”

“Adrian - ”

“The snake and the dragon do look cooler. I’ll think on it, Stuart.”

This was why Stuart was not allowed to feel feelings.

He much preferred the pain of grief. But it wasn’t there. Adrian had managed to help him coax it away for the time being. 

At least that was something he kind of knew how to navigate -

( _No, you don’t want it back, Stuart_ , a void that sounded suspiciously like Robin teased. _You deserve good things too. You’re doing great_ ).

(( _T_ _his is your fault_ , he wanted to hiss)).

But it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t Robin’s fault that he had to leave. It wasn’t Robin’s fault that he had an epiphany in front of that same stupid fountain. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

* * *

Just when Stuart had thought he’d resolved one crisis, the universe dropped another one right into his lap.

One whose name started with A and ended with _drian._

Stuart desperately wanted to know who came up with these things. He just wanted to fucking _talk_.

With his fists.

* * *

Their walk home would’ve been nice if it weren’t for the fact that Stuart was completely freaking out on the inside. Adrian didn’t talk much, falling back into his usual peaceful quiet, still dutifully holding the umbrella between them even though the rain had softened to a mere drizzle by then. 

“Thanks for today,” Stuart remembered to say as they took off their shoes and headed back inside. He _did_ genuinely mean that, even though he wanted to beat up the universe and himself just then.

Adrian shook the water off the umbrella. “Anytime, Stuart.”

“It - you helped. A lot.”

“I know, Stuart.” 

His hand reached out and squeezed Stuart’s elbow for a moment. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Then Adrian was gone, disappearing down the winding hallways, and Stuart was making a beeline for his bedroom.

He collapsed onto the bed with a loud groan. He didn’t even bother taking off his coat.

Stuart didn’t know how much time he spent just sprawled face-down across the sheets, a pathetic mirror image of the morning. His mind whirled, howling like the winds of a fantastic thunderstorm.

He liked girls just fine. He knew that. Stuart had gotten a few crushes here and there, from the few girls outside of his family he’d managed to meet - but without the ability to keep in touch, most of the feelings had disappeared just as quickly as they’d come. Fiery, spontaneous, burning out.

This was different.

He liked - 

His throat tightened, and Stuart sucked in a breath that cut like glass.

Adrian.

He liked - _him_.

Stuart couldn’t help it. Adrian was just so easy to _like_. Some desperate, irrational part of himself demanded, maybe this was something best friends felt toward each other, right? 

One of few things Peter had taught him, the more involved with the Syndicate Stuart had become, was to recognize when he’d lost a fight. When to pull back, so he didn’t lose his life.

This was a battle Stuart had lost a long time ago, though he didn’t know _when_.

Who could he talk to? It wasn’t a very long list. Not Peter - Stuart had only just started to interact with him after years of stone-cold silence, and as far as he was concerned, his big brother was at the _bottom_ of the list. Definitely not his parents. They’d never even talked to Stuart about _liking_ people, much less liking _boys_ , even though he’d definitely liked girls too in the past, and did they even know what - what that was?

Maybe it could be fine if he just told Mother, because Mother had never really given any indication she’d throw him out for something like who he was, maybe just chastise at best. Father was the one who did the throwing-out so Stuart had no qualms about ruling _him_ out too. But he also didn’t know how _she_ would react because she _never_ reacted to things like this since they just _didn’t talk about it in the first place_ -

Robin would’ve listened.

Robin also wasn’t there. 

Mary, maybe. But Mary wouldn’t understand. She’d probably just say something about not letting it become a distraction. Which was fucking impossible. Because Adrian was _there_ , all the time, and it wasn’t like Stuart wanted to just dump his best friend of five years over something as stupid as _feelings_ \- 

And _how the fuck_ was Stuart supposed to just ignore this living, breathing part of himself?

Adrian was the only option left but he was the cause of this in the first place.

Stuart didn’t realize he’d sat up until he pitched forward, and the soft down of his blankets pressed against his forehead. His fingers ached from how tightly they were gripping his hair, and he forced himself to let go after a long minute. But then his hands were shaking without anything to grab on to, and Stuart was shaking, and the whole world felt a little like it was sighing, trembling, quivering, and he couldn’t do anything -

Because for the first time, there was no one to help him with this.

For the first time, he was truly alone.

* * *

_Fuck that fountain_. 

That fountain was cursed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: stuart turns 16 and peter takes another mission
> 
> there! a brief respite from the angst! before i launch you headfirst into the abyss!
> 
> (side note i literally just looked up random british slang please don't hate me if they are inaccurate)


	6. stuart's law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a birthday and a mission
> 
>  **warnings** : off screen character deaths (mentioned, not explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg hello sO i was overly ambitious and wanted to do a double update but um. that didn't work out. so here i am showing up like 2 months later with an iced tea and This trash fire. to the 2 people reading this: ENJOY <3

Stuart was _kind of sort of_ pining after his best friend. 

It was a secret he swore to keep between himself and an uncaring cosmos. No one would ever know, as long as he saw fit.

Of course, that was when the cosmos finally decided to tune back in, and remembered that _Stuart Little Pathetic Mushy Feelings Hatford_ was just another pawn in its ridiculous, horrible, awful chess game.

Adrian was everywhere was everything. He was the ghostly sunlight that streamed across empty hallways, the airy gold adorning a dusty courtyard. He was the rare kind of honey only his irises seemed to produce, the rare November warmth that Stuart yearned for after what felt like a year of winter. He was a harsh kick to the side, a barely dodged punch to the face, a fluttering fingertip pressing a bandage against a cut.

He was everything Stuart liked and everything Stuart could never avoid.

At first it made him a bit miserable. Well, _more than a little_. 

But there was one thing the cosmos forgot about him, he thought one afternoon, as he watched Adrian talk to his father. 

( _What_ , a void that sounded suspiciously like _no one_ teased).

Stuart was getting really good at hiding his emotions. Just a trick of the trade, he supposed. 

No one would ever know.

More importantly, _Adrian_ would never know.

It wasn’t - difficult, really, at least the more Stuart thought about it.

Because, sure, there would always be a part of him that longed to taste that sunlight. He didn’t know for how long that part of him was planning on staying, only that it was _there_ , and it didn’t seem like it was planning on moving out. Fine.

But there was an even bigger part of Stuart that just loved Adrian because he _loved Adrian_. His best friend, his companion, his confidante. That part told him that as long as he could have Adrian as he was, for another moment, for another year, for another _lifetime_ \- 

As long as Stuart could have him in any capacity at all, it didn’t matter. 

That would be more than enough.

Stuart rested his chin over his knees, trying to quell the quivering in his heart as Adrian glanced his way with a tiny smile. It was an expression he returned with ease.

(He had a penchant for things that didn’t come back to him.

Adrian Nguyen was not one of them).

Maybe someone else would’ve told him that it was wrong to like him that way. But Stuart only knew that it didn’t feel wrong to like Adrian.

It was as natural as the sunrise tucking the stars within its arms for another day. It was as natural as the moon beckoning playfully at the tides every night. It was as natural as objects loved falling and gravity loved listening.

It didn’t feel wrong at all.

It was just a theory - a discovery, perhaps even his own law - he’d keep to himself for a while.

Stuart was roused from his thoughts when Adrian began coming over, his father in tow. Standing up, he dipped his head in what he hoped was a respectful enough nod. 

“Hi, Mr. - ”

“Philip, please,” the man interrupted before he could go farther, eyes crinkling with familiar amusement. “I was just telling Adrian here that you and your sister are going to be coming out with me next.”

Stuart blinked slowly. “Wait - what?”

Adrian snorted, and he shot his friend a derisive glare. Philip didn’t seem to notice.

“We need to get some information, and your father wanted you two to get some more experience too,” Philip said easily. “We’re going in two days. Judith will be with us as well.”

He remembered Judith. She was _great_ at cleaning up their messes.

“O-Okay,” he forced himself to say when both father and son leveled him with identical stares. 

“Don’t die on him,” Adrian said dryly. Philip rolled his eyes before ruffling his hair.

“I’ve got to get to a meeting now. I’ll see you around, okay?” Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Adrian’s head, ignoring his grumbling, Philip waved at Stuart before heading off.

“He’s embarrassing,” Adrian muttered after a short moment.

“What, getting actual fatherly affection? Shameful. We should definitely duke it out. You know, to vent.” Stuart kept his tone light enough that Adrian wouldn’t feel bad, but he still got a dirty glare and a soft touch to his elbow for his efforts. 

(Liking Adrian was as natural as nerves setting themselves alight and rain leaving behind petrichor ghosts and shadows shifting between windy alleyways).

((It was Stuart’s law)).

* * *

The mission itself was somewhat innocuous, at least for Stuart and Mary. The “babies” of the group, as they were so kindly deemed by Judith.

They were tasked with keeping watch while Philip and Judith did most of the hard work. As far as Stuart knew, it was something else related to the Moriyamas. Most of the things they did at this point were, anyway. He just wasn’t sure if they were still trying to find more information on the new heir’s whereabouts, or if it was something else.

Mary sat in front of him in the crowded coffee shop, absently tracing one hand over her shoulder. Stuart was the only person in the room who could’ve known she was touching their family crest, but he couldn’t resist the urge to kick her under the table anyway.

“What the fuck?”

Stuart gestured toward her shoulder. “Stop touching it.”

“No one’s going to know,” Mary scowled, but lowered her hand anyway. After a minute, she shifted again and sighed, “Is this what most missions are like?”

He tried not to think about broken necks and blood staining black coats, focusing on the sweet coffee clasped between his hands.

“No,” he said tightly, glaring at the cream swirling on the surface. “This is just a dull one.”

“Oh.”

“You’d definitely be better at the less-boring ones,” Stuart continued hastily. “I don’t know why Father wouldn’t let you go on them until now.”

She raised an eyebrow slowly. “You know why,” she said.

He did know why, but it was stupid.

“Just because you’re a girl - ”

“I know, Stuart. I’ve gone over the reasons in my head approximately a hundred times.”

“Right.”

Mary sighed again. She was doing that a lot lately. “I wonder what Father wants me to do,” she said quietly, glaring out the window. “Handle the money forever? Fall in love and get married? Extend the bloodline? It’s stupid.”

Lowering his cup, Stuart gazed at his sister cautiously.

He didn’t know where the question suddenly came from. Maybe it had always been there, and Mary’s words had just set it on fire. Now the smoke was crowding his lungs and he desperately wanted to _breathe_. 

“Do you - ” He cleared his throat, and Mary glanced his way. “Do you like anyone?”

“Huh?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” Stuart resisted the urge to slump over and bury his face against the wooden table. 

(Liking the boy who could easily beat his ass into oblivion while sparring was inevitable, just as unavoidable as liking the same boy who shared his umbrella and smiled softly in the rain was. In whatever form or life that ‘ _like’_ took - it was bound to happen. That was his law.

His law also said that he’d be okay with any piece of the boy that he had the privilege to ever keep. Any piece at all.

His law also demanded quiet. It demanded he held his breath).

((Stuart’s chest was beginning to _ache_ )).

Of course, Mary didn’t know about any of it. She just looked at him, confusion melting away into something more cautious. 

“Do _you_ like someone?” she shot back.

“No.” The answer was immediate and vehement and _wrong_.

She didn’t call him out on it. All she did was regard him carefully for one long moment, before shrugging one shoulder.

“I don’t care who you like,” she said, turning her gaze back out the window. “I _do_ care when you’re distracted, like you are _right now_.”

Relief and disbelief flooded him at the same time. 

_I knew you would say that_ , he wanted to say, while the rest of him gasped for air. 

_Thank you anyway_ , he wanted to say, while the rest of him stayed quiet.

He hadn’t been asking the question that truly mattered, and Mary hadn’t answered it in a way that truly reassured him, but -

It meant _something_. It had to.

He sipped at his coffee and resumed his definitely-very-important mission duties. 

Nothing went wrong. Not on their watch.

* * *

“Had fun at your stakeout, little one?” 

“I’m almost sixteen. Stop calling me ‘little one,’” Stuart grumbled. Judith grinned. She’d painted her lips dark purple that day.

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“I’m pretty sure I have more power than you do anyway.”

“ _I’m_ pretty sure I’ve been part of this business way before you were ever conceived, brat.”

Philip stifled a cough, while Mary just looked scandalized. Stuart was just trying to think of a good comeback.

“Well - you’re just _old_ , then!”

Judith threw her head back and laughed loudly. It was a raucous yet brilliant sound.

Neither she nor Philip told them what they’d done that day. Stuart didn’t really want to know.

* * *

The middle of November marked Stuart’s birthday. It wasn’t much of an occasion to celebrate anymore. At least when Robin was still home, he’d sneak Stuart some sweets he’d bought at the nearby plaza, and then he’d let Stuart have more than a single chopstick’s worth of wine.

But Robin wasn’t home. Hadn’t been, for three years.

Thinking about his brother always threatened to carve Stuart apart. No matter how far he tried to get away, grief had its way of reeling him back in. It was the one friend he wished he never had.

Mary elbowed him when she passed him in the hallway. 

“Happy birthday, you baby,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. Stuart whirled around and yelled at her retreating back, shoulders hunched like she was trying not to laugh.

“I’m sixteen now, for your information!”

He slipped into Adrian’s room later that night to rant about it. His friend just levelled him with an unamused glare.

“What?” Stuart demanded, pausing mid-sister-related-tirade.

“No, it’s just we have this same exact conversation every year.”

“But I am _so_ tired of - just because I’m the youngest doesn’t mean I’m the useless one!” 

“You’re right,” Adrian said, quirking an eyebrow. “And every year I remind you that you’re technically older than me.”

“Only by about a month. That doesn’t count for shit.” 

“Okay, keep making yourself miserable.” He stood up after a minute, holding out a hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

_That_ startled him out of his annoyance. “What?” 

“I’ve always wanted to see the London Bridge.”

“You haven’t - how long have you _lived_ here?” Stuart demanded, grabbing Adrian’s hand and hauling himself to his feet. He tried to ignore the way his skin sparked at the contact. As usual, Stuart was every inch a failure.

Adrian just shrugged, slipping his fingers away to scratch at his neck. “Are we going or not?”

“ _Yes_ , let’s go.”

Warmth had slipped away into the evening, instead swathing them in a familiar chill as they leapt over the courtyard walls and landed by the streets. Stuart took one glance at Adrian, reveled in the way his eyes sparked even with darkness, and couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. 

They took off with Stuart leading the way. And if some obscure amount of time later, Stuart found himself grabbing Adrian’s hand so he wouldn’t lose him, all he could think was -

_Of course._

Of course it was him.

Stuart was only sixteen and his heart ached with his secrets and his stomach hurt for the childhood he’d promised himself not to lose but did. Yet -

Some naive part of him wanted to scream that as long as there was Adrian, there would be no one else for him.

* * *

London Bridge was brilliant at night, but Stuart was jaded enough to forget about it. Adrian was seeing it all for the first time, and for once, he looked genuinely amazed by it.

“Like what you see?” Stuart smirked, tiptoeing against the railing and peering down at the black waters rushing below. 

Adrian cleared his throat. “No, but at least I got a long walk out of it.”

“Cheeky bastard.”

They settled down on the ground, close enough to the edge that their legs could dangle off into a darkness that Stuart pretended was oblivion. Cars rushed behind them, ruffling their hair with gasoline-tainted wind. Night spilled across the city like ink, and golden lights flickered in the distance like fallen stars. 

It was the kind of night that Stuart wanted to reach out and bite, to see if it tasted just as liberating as it felt.

Adrian tapped his fingers against his knees, swinging his feet to and fro. His voice was quiet when he spoke again.

“Happy birthday, Stuart.”

He found himself smiling.

“Thanks, Ade. It’s nice being out here.”

The light pollution from the city didn’t agree with the stars, but a few of the brightest ones poked through anyway. Stuart looked up at them, tracing unnamed constellations in his head, as Adrian followed his gaze.

“If you were going to stargaze,” his friend began, “you could’ve picked a better spot.”

Stuart sputtered indignantly. “ _You_ wanted to go to the bridge!”

“You can’t even see any of the constellations here.” Adrian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “My dad used to stargaze a lot, actually. He stopped, though.”

“Why?” 

“He was - it was the first date he ever had, apparently,” he explained. “He stopped because doing it reminded him too much about what happened.” 

“First date, huh?” 

“My dad said you should never trust your first love.” There was something bittersweet in Adrian’s eyes as he said it, and Stuart couldn’t help but lean a little bit closer.

“Oh? Who was his?”

Lips twitching in a smirk, he answered, “Some guy from high school. He never told me his name, but apparently he broke his heart. I’m pretty sure Dad was exaggerating a bit, but that was the lesson he learned.”

It was a great story and all, but Stuart’s stupid, horrible brain was still stuck on _guy from high school_. 

A boy. Adrian’s father had dated a boy before, and it was okay. 

_Adrian_ was okay with it.

He couldn’t tell if it was relief or hopelessness that had caught fire beneath his ribs. 

(Because it only meant that - should Stuart ever tell Adrian his secret, or at least only _half_ of it, then his best friend wouldn’t abandon him.

Because it only meant that - there really was no way out of this for Stuart, not any more).

His silence, of course, had Adrian narrowing his eyes.

“Got a problem?”

“What?” Stuart nearly jumped. “No! No, absolutely not. That’s great. I mean, not great that he got his heart broken or whatever, but - ”

“I’m teasing,” Adrian said, cutting him off with a soft jab to his ribs.

((They both knew that it wasn’t anything to tease about)).

Stuart took in a gulp of cold air, forcing himself to relax. “So, rough first love,” he said blandly. His friend snorted.

“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” he said. “I - I’d like to.”

“You’d like to what?”

“Trust my first love.” Adrian wasn’t looking at him, was looking at anything and anyone but him. “What’s the point if you don’t?”

There were rare moments when the world felt more forgiving. When it pushed aside its endless, crushing darkness for one fleeting second. When it cupped them both in its callous hands and whispered, _take your time. It’s just you and me now._

This was one of those moments.

The city was a mere painting and his best friend was the real subject. Words welled up like blood in Stuart’s mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. They were pressed up against each other in the cold, and he couldn’t think of anything else but the line of fire between them and this feeling in his chest that was too big and clumsy for definition.

_It’s just you and me_. 

_You and me_ , and a cold, cold world.

It was natural.

Gravity loved pushing, crime scenes loved fingerprints, life loved cruelty.

And -

Stuart loved Adrian. That was all, simple as that.

He loved Adrian because there was no world or situation or lifetime he could do anything but. He loved Adrian because he was the one thing that could fell Stuart in the end.

It was natural, and perhaps even a little right.

The only thing Stuart could think of saying was a quiet, “ _I_ trust you.”

Adrian’s eyes twinkled when he finally met Stuart’s gaze.

“I trust you too,” he said.

Okay.

Adrian was a crime scene, untouchable, and Stuart had already left traces of himself everywhere. The deeper he fell, the more he incriminated himself. It was what he’d always told himself, held over his own head.

But for once, he didn’t find himself grieving another loss. 

Because Adrian was right there, touching him like that was completely right, and Stuart couldn’t help but think that he was always bound to mess up along the way. He wasn’t going to get out of this one in time, and he didn’t want to.

He loved Adrian because he was his best friend.

So he’d wait for the sirens. 

And if they started sounding like the pounding in his own chest as he realized that he’d chosen Adrian - and somewhere along the line, Adrian had chosen him right back - 

That was between him and an uncaring, occasionally forgiving cosmos.

* * *

“What were you even doing? It isn’t as if you had _school_ to stay up for,” Mary said, completely bulldozing over Stuart’s very important need to _nap the entire fucking day away_. He groaned, facedown on the mattress.

“Leave me alone.” 

“If you _wanted_ to sneak out and drink, Father’s cabinet was right there.”

“Mary, if you don’t leave, I swear to God I can and will use you as target practice - ”

“Don’t go pulling any other all-nighters, Stuart,” she said easily, slipping off his desk and heading toward the doorway. “London Bridge is pretty far out.”

Stuart shot up. “How did you know?” 

Mary had no right to look so smug. “Lucky guess.” 

Okay, she did have the right. She completely earned it. 

“Close the _fucking_ door!” he yelled, but she didn’t listen. 

“Or what, you’ll use me as target practice?”

Stuart was very dangerous, thank you very much. He could and would kill a man if he had to.

But Mary was also extremely dangerous, and even worse - she was still his older sister. 

He closed the damn door. 

* * *

November slipped away into winter once again.

He should’ve known it was all too good to last, really. 

This time, the fall was brutal.

* * *

Two weeks after Stuart turned sixteen, he found Mother talking to Peter in the dining room. From where he hovered just around the corner, he couldn’t quite hear their conversation, but hushed voices never meant good things in their home.

He could only see Mother’s face from where he stood. Peter had his hands resting against the table, fingers occasionally twitching as she murmured something to him.

“ - be with Philip. Judith will be backing us up with her group too.”

“Will it be enough?” 

Peter shifted again. “Philip knows the man and can make him talk. This could be the turning point for us, and you know that.”

“I’m asking about you.”

“Mother, I’ll be fine.” 

Stuart slipped away, something heavy settling in his stomach. 

His brother never lied. It didn’t make sense that he’d start now. Yet, there was something haunting about the way Mother had been looking at him. There was a strange look in her eyes, like she was trying to memorize something she’d forgotten long ago. 

Like she was trying to say goodbye.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Stuart headed out into the courtyards. Adrian wasn’t there - as far as Stuart knew, he was spending time with his father. Instead, it was Mary, who had been practicing her own kicks and punches since the early morning. 

He knew only the most marginal details of what Peter had to do. It was something related to the Moriyama family - most of what they did nowadays was, anyway. Supposedly the person Philip knew had insider information on the Lord himself, Kengo. Apparently Philip also knew enough about the person that they could easily turn him in at any point. It was a good, old-fashioned blackmail situation, an exchange of information for a life. 

It was too simple but Stuart didn’t know what else they could’ve done.

Mary had paused in her movements, turning to glance at him. “What are you doing?” she asked, pulling out her messy bun so her hair could fall over her shoulders. It was getting really long, he absently noted. 

“Nothing,” he said, crossing his arms, trying to dispel the remnants of his brother’s voice from his head. “Want to spar?” 

She raised an eyebrow, but immediately began to readjust her hair, opting to leave it in a ponytail this time. “Alright.”

They didn’t talk about it, distracting themselves with punches that fell short and kicks that didn’t land. There was nothing to say, really. 

Later that night, Stuart spotted Peter sitting by himself in the living room. Absently massaging his bad leg with one hand, he was staring blankly at the mantle. Stuart followed his gaze, breath catching when he saw that his brother was looking at -

Their family photo from six years ago. 

Stuart hated looking at it now. Mostly because it reminded him that even though the hurt had ebbed away - only returning occasionally like tides always came back to the shores - there was always a part of their family that would be missing in Robin. 

Partly because he hated the way he smiled.

Glancing back toward his brother’s pensive face, Stuart frowned. Peter was never the sentimental type, much less the kind of person to spend his time looking at old photos and reminiscing, but he supposed that he just hadn’t seen that side of him yet. 

(He wondered if Peter missed those times, too). 

But he turned away and didn’t say anything, heading back to his own room. 

He’d have time to ask Peter about it. 

* * *

Philip kissed Adrian on the forehead again when he left. There was a cautious look on his face as he did so, but Stuart didn’t comment on it. 

“Still embarrassed?” he asked when his friend remained quiet for a moment too long. Adrian twitched, like he’d just woken up.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, but let Stuart drag him away regardless.

* * *

Peter left with Philip, Judith right behind them. 

* * *

  
  
  


* * *

Only Judith came back.

* * *

Stuart was sitting in the living room, between Adrian and Mary, when she came with the news. Next to him, his friend perked up, only to freeze when no one else came in behind her. 

It all went south, she’d said, voice trembling for the first and only time in Stuart’s life. It was a warning from the Moriyamas themselves. 

Father’s only indication of any emotion at all was a clenched fist at his side. Mother let out a horrible gasping noise and practically bolted out of the room. Judith only shut her eyes, lips twisting in a pained frown, before murmuring something about her team bringing them back.

No, not _them_ , Stuart realized, ears ringing and fingers shaking.

Their bodies.

Mary was frozen beside him, eyes wide and disbelieving. Stuart didn’t need to look at her to understand what she was thinking. _Not him, too. Not him, too._ Please _, not him_.

Judith raked a hand through her hair, dark bangs falling into even darker eyes. Her fingernails were still stained rust-red.

“I’m sorry.” This time her words were directed toward the three children standing in front of her. Judith didn’t make a move toward any of them, only stood there and lowered her head like she was ashamed. “I really am sorry. We got a few of their men too, but - it was too late for us.” 

Stuart opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his throat was wound shut. Movement at his side caught his attention, and he barely turned around in time to see Adrian storm away.

No, storming away wasn’t the right thing either.

He just drifted like he was so irrevocably lost.

Stuart all but collapsed, breath shuddering too loudly in his lungs. Someone was crying - he couldn’t tell if it was him, or Mother, or even Mary - but it didn’t matter. 

He could only think about his brother in the living room, staring at their family photo. The question that had risen to his lips but wasn’t asked: _do you miss us too_?

Stuart had once thought the cosmos forgiving. Oh, how wrong he was.

Because it always balanced itself out in the end. Good was rewarded with tragedy. Warmth was chased with grief.

Questions were followed without answers.

It didn’t matter anymore. No amount of begging Stuart did would bring back the time he once had. 

_Do you miss us too?_

There was no one left to answer it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: a look into adrian's life 
> 
> (BONUS ADRIAN POV NEXT AW YEA)
> 
> ((hella if you see this. um. don't kill me x)

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!!! i'm really happy with this fic and i think it shows lol :') lots more to come for the littlest hatford, stay tuned x
> 
> for reference here are their ages at the start of the fic:  
> stuart and adrian are both 10  
> mary is 11  
> robin is 17  
> peter is 20
> 
> this is my current fic writing obsession so btwn school shenanigans and other stuff i will be focusing on updating this x


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